Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
Look at the sunset
floating fire-islands move
imperial over cream green seas.
Islands on fire! Islands like torches!
Islands on victory parade!
Up from the depths a black forest sparkles
sneaky, envious – joyous, tree by tree, triumph by triumph…
Poor stripes of forest in pale veils of mist
is grasped, is lifted – joins in majesty.
On your knees, you lion-wonder,
in the dark corners of the world.
The day comes enthroned to an end…
The threads of light cut off invisible hands.