Evening walk

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.