Sorrows

Edith Södergran: Poems

Sister, fair one, don’t go into the mountains:

they deceived me,

they had nothing to offer my longing.

As a souvenir I broke a branch off the fir

which shaded the road, as lush as a spring bush,

and I sought back to the ocean in my old tracks.

A thousand playthings have the ocean crushed and thrown up on the sand –

in vain I search for some jewelry that can give shine to my beauty.

Come, sit by me, I shall tell you of my sorrows,

we shall speak to each other about secrets.

You shall show me your beauty and your gaze

and I shall offer you my silence and my habit of listening.