Grimace d'Artiste

Edith Södergran: The September Lyre

I have nothing but my shining cloak,

my red fearlessness.

My red fearlessness goes on quests

in unworthy countries.


I have nothing but the lyre under my arm,

my hard string-music;

my hard lyre sounds for all people

on all tracks.


I have nothing but my proud crown,

my growing pride.

My growing pride tucks the lyre under my arm

and bids farewell.