Edith Södergran
The Day Cools... 


I 
The day cools toward evening... 
Drink the warmth from my hand, 
in throbs with spring's own blood. 
Take my hand, take my white arm, 
take the longing of my slender shoulders... 
How strange if I could feel, 
one single night, a night like this, 
your heavy head against my breast. 

II
You cast your love's red rose 
into my white womb -
and with my burning hands I hold 
your love's red rose that soon will wilt ... 
Oh master with your frozen eyes, 
I will accept the crown you give me, 
which bends my head toward my heart ... 

III
Today, for the first time, I saw my master. 
Shivering, I recognized him at once. 
Already I feel his heavy hand on my light arm... 
Where is my ringing maidenly laughter, 
my womanly freedom with head carried high? 
Now I feel his tight grip on my shaking body, 
now I hear the hard ring of reality 
against my sheer, sheer dreams. 

IV
You looked for a flower 
and found a fruit. 
You looked for a well 
and found an ocean. 
You looked for a woman 
and found a soul - 
you are disappointed. 


(Translation: Stina Katchadourian)


OEB
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