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.