My soul

Edith Södergran: Poems

My soul cannot tell or know of any truth,

my soul can only cry and wring its hands;

my soul cannot remember and defend,

my soul cannot consider and confirm.

When I was a child I saw the ocean: it was blue,

in my youth I met a flower: she was red,

now a stranger sits by my side: he is colourless,

but I fear him no more than the maid fears the dragon.

When the knight came the maid was red and white,

but I have dark shadows under my eyes.