Kaarlo Sarkia(1902-1945)
With flowery phrases about my love I don't speak:
little would be to you the peal of the jingling brass!
Only my poor heart, beloved, on your arms I will lay -
stretch them out, so I can reach from the ground.
The lure of the night sounds, presses my head sleep -
hold my hand, beloved, to the grave don't release!
The warmth of your bosom grant, blood thaw from the ice -
to die I don't want, life from your life lend!
Pull me away from the languor on the brink of the grave,
grant life, grant light, the warm hearth of your blood!
If I can suffice, beloved, as a step on your road,
over my chest strong, gentle and devout pass.
(Rakkaudestani; Kohtalon vaaka, 1943, page 100-101.)
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