Edith Södergran: The Land Which Is Not
The trees of my childhood stand tall in the grass
and shake their heads: what’s become of you?
Rows of columns stand as reproaches: unworthy you walk beneath us!
You’re a child and should be able to do everything,
why are you chained in the bond of disease?
You have become human, a stranger and detested.
When you were a child you led long conversations with us,
your gaze was wise.
Now we will tell you the secret of your life:
the key to all secrets lie in the grass at the raspberry hill.
We shall slap your brow, sleeping one,
we will wake you, dead one, from your slumber.