Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
Up on the clouds live all I need:
my daylight – sure ideas, my lightning – quick certainty,
and on the clouds I myself live
- white, in sun which blinds,
inaccessible, happy, waving goodbye.
Goodbye, green woods of my youth.
There hang beasts –
I will never again set foot on Earth.
Did an eagle bring me up on its wings –
far from the world
I have peace.
Up on the clouds I sit and sing –
scorning laughter drips like quicksilver down on the Earth
and make weeds and flying seeds grow.