Songs of Bilitis - Benjamin Adamah

LITTLE CHILDREN
The brook is nearly dry, the drying rushes perish in the mud; the air is burning,
and far from the steep embankments a thin clear streamlet flows upon the sand.
There it is from morn to night that little naked children come to play. They
bathe, no higher than their calves, so sunken is the stream.
But they tramp in the current and often slip upon the rocks, and little boys throw
water upon little laughing girls.
And when a company of passing merchants leads down their great white cattle to
the sink, they cross their hands behind them, and watch the heavy beasts.
STORIES
I am beloved by little children; when they see me come they run to me and tug
upon my tunic, and grasp my legs about with tiny arms.
If they have gathered flowers, all are mine; if they have caught a beetle, they
place it in my hand; if they have nothing, they fondle me and make me sit before
them.
Then they kiss me on the cheek, they rest their little heads upon my breasts; they
supplicate me with their shining eyes. How well I know just what they mean to
say!
They mean: "Bilitis sweet, tell us again, for we are good, the story of the hero
Perseus, or else how little Helle met her death." 39
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