The old house

Edith Södergran: Poems

Where new eyes look at old times

as strangers without a heart…

I long towards my old graves,

my melancholy greatness cries bitter tears

which nobody sees.

I live incessantly in the sweetness of old days

among strangers who build new cities

on blue hills up against the heaven’s arch,

I talk quietly with the caught trees

and comfort them sometimes.

Where time slowly corrodes the nature of things,

and the hard heel of fate inaudibly stomps.

I must wait for the mild death

which brings the soul freedom!