Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
All the golden stars of time on my dark velvet suit.
I am triumphant… tonight… and I tremble.
The hard poles of fate pound from my chest.
Does the wind whirl up the sand on all pavements?
- - - - - - - -
Does death and destruction exist for me – no.
Death is in Helsinki –
he catches the sparks on the roofs.
I cross the square with my future on my breast.