Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | October 24, 2008


by Edith Södergran (1892 – 1923).


My Soul


My soul can tell no tales and knows no truths,

my soul can only cry and laugh and wring its hands;

my soul cannot remember and defend,

my soul cannot consider or approve.

As a child I saw the sea: it was blue.                                                    5

In my youth I met a flower: she was red.

Now a stranger sits by my side: he is colorless,

but I fear him no more than the virgin feared the dragon.

The knight came upon the virgin, red and white,

but I have dark rings under my eyes.                                                10



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