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.