The song from the cloud

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.