The Tree (from The Songs of Bilitis)

THE TREE

STRIPPED of my clothes, naked, I climbed into a tree.
My bare thighs in a close embrace pressed the smooth
damp bark. My sandals trod upon the branches.

Almost at the top, but still under the leaves in the
shadow from the heat, I put myself astride of a pro-
jecting branch, my legs dangling in the air.

The rain came, and cool drops fell upon me and
ran over my skin. My hands were soiled with moss,
and my toes were red with the juice of crushed flowers.

I felt the life of the beautiful tree when the wind
blew through its branches. Then I pressed my
thighs together in an ecstasy, and laid my open lips
against the hairy nape of a limb.


Pierre Louys