Edith Södergran: Poems
I don’t want to hear the sad legend
the forest tells.
It whispers yet between the conifers,
it sighs yet between the leaves,
yet long slides the shadows between the sinister trunks.
Come out on the road. Nobody meets us there.
The evening dreams pale red along the silent roadsides.
The road runs slowly and the road slowly rises
and looks lengthily around for the sun’s glow.