To the Beech Tree

In the sun’s gilded tones, you rise, Madonna-like: your graceful limbs adorned, Each sway of your boughs, a prayer That weaves our hearts into life.

The wind, yet spirit, thins and thickens In your embrace — a whispering breeze That dances through your leaves. When the moon leans low in love, You cradle the night’s desperate sighs,

Let me dwell within your arms, dear tree, Feel the pulse of your living memory, Wrap me in the waves of your shadow, And I shall know the timbre of time.

• Rainer Maria Rilke