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.