Constantinople - Retour En Songe

    After a dream-dim voyage
    We came with sails all set
    Towards the city of the sea,
    And it was wonderful to me
    To find her reigning yet.

    Oh beauty that my eyes and heart
    Had feasted on before!
    The evening mosques were brushed with gold,
    The water lapped a lazy fold
    Upon that lovely shore;

    The gardens of her terraced hills
    Rose up above the port,
    And little houses half concealed
    The presence of a light revealed,
    And here my journey's end was sealed,
    And I reached the home I sought.

    Those windows I had opened wide
    To welcome in the sun!
    Those stairs that only happy feet
    Had measured with their running beat!
    That well-remembered winding street!
    Twelve months that were as one!

    Should others with their sordid cares
    And troubles enter here?
    Love hung about the rooms like smoke,
    And peace descended as a cloak,
    Should I allow the vulgar folk
    To desecrate that year?

    I laid the fuse with steady hand;
    We sailed into the night,
    From deck I watched the flames arise
    Remorseless as my tearless eyes
    That, with the waves and reddened skies,
    Flung back the angry light.

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

Victoria Mary Sackville-West, commonly known as Vita Sackville-West, was an English author and poet, renowned for her prolific writing and her association with the Bloomsbury Group. She achieved great success with her novels and significant acclaim for her poetry, particularly in the early 20th century. In addition to her literary pursuits, Sackville-West was also known for her creation of the gardens at Sissinghurst Castle, which remain celebrated to this day.

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

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Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Constantinople - Dhji-Han-Ghir. For H.N.

    For years it had been neglected,
    This wilderness garden of ours,
    And its ruin had shone reflected
    In its pools through abandoned hours.
    For none had cared for its beauty
    Till we came, the strangers, the Giaours,
    And none had thought of a duty
    Towards its squandering flowers.

    Of broken wells and fountains
    There were half a dozen or more,
    And, beyond the sea, the mountains
    Of that far Bithynian shore
    Were blue in the purple distance
    And white was the cap they wore,
    And never in our existence
    Had life seemed brighter before!

    And the fruit-trees grew in profusion,
    Quince and pomegranate and wine,
    And the roses in rich confusion
    With the lilac intertwine,

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

The India Wharf

Here in the velvet stillness
The wide sown fields fall to the faint horizon,
Sleeping in starlight....


A year ago we walked in the jangling city
Together.... forgetful.
One by one we crossed the avenues,
Rivers of light, roaring in tumult,
And came to the narrow, knotted streets.
Thru the tense crowd
We went aloof, ecstatic, walking in wonder,
Unconscious of our motion.
Forever the foreign people with dark, deep-seeing eyes
Passed us and passed.
Lights and foreign words and foreign faces,
I forgot them all;
I only felt alive, defiant of all death and sorrow,
Sure and elated.

That was the gift you gave me....

The streets grew still more tangled,
And led at last to water black and glossy,
Flecked here and there with li...

Sara Teasdale

A Sunset Fantasy

Spellbound by a sweet fantasy
At evenglow I stand
Beside an opaline strange sea
That rings a sunset land.

The rich lights fade out one by one,
And, like a peony
Drowning in wine, the crimson sun
Sinks down in that strange sea.

His wake across the ocean-floor
In a long glory lies,
Like a gold wave-way to the shore
Of some sea paradise.

My dream flies after him, and I
Am in another land;
The sun sets in another sky,
And we sit hand in hand.

Gray eyes look into mine; such eyes
I think the angels are,
Soft as the soft light in the skies
When shines the morning star,

And tremulous as morn, when thin
Gold lights begin to glow,
Revealing the bright soul within
As dawn the sun below.

So, hand...

Victor James Daley

Sailing Ships

Lying on Downs above the wrinkling bay
I with the kestrels shared the cleanly day,
The candid day; wind-shaven, brindled turf;
Tall cliffs; and long sea-line of marbled surf
From Cornish Lizard to the Kentish Nore
Lipping the bulwarks of the English shore,
While many a lovely ship below sailed by
On unknown errand, kempt and leisurely;
And after each, oh, after each, my heart
Fled forth, as, watching from the Downs apart,
I shared with ships good joys and fortunes wide
That might befall their beauty and their pride;

Shared first with them the blessèd void repose
Of oily days at sea, when only rose
The porpoise's slow wheel to break the sheen
Of satin water indolently green,
When for'ard the crew, caps tilted over eyes,
Lay heaped on deck; slept; mum...

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

The Isle Of Sleep.

In those dark mornings, deep in June,
    When brooding birds stir in the nest,
And heavy dews slip down the leaves,
    And drop into the rose's breast,
I woke and looked into the east,
    And saw no sign of coming day,
The pale cold morning rolled in mist,
    Slept on the hill-tops far away.

My window looked into the dawn,
    The slumbering dawn that was so nigh,
The shadow of the hills was drawn
    In waving lines against the sky.
But warmer hues began to tip
    The edges of the mountain cloud
And morning's rosy cheek and lip
    Glowed softly through her snow-pale shroud.

I turned and gazed into the west,
    The river murmured in my ear
'Gone night, and silence, dreams and rest,
    Another day of toil is here.'

...

Kate Seymour Maclean

Constantinople - Leblebidji*

    I know so well the busy cries
    That echo through the quarter
    Till daylight into evening dies
    And stars shine in the water,
    So dear they have become to me,
    Leblebidji! leblebidji!

    On peaceful English country nights
    Their rapid gay succession
    And all the sea-reflected lights
    Will pass from my possession,
    But never from my memory,
    Leblebidji! leblebidji!

    Past English evening scents and sounds,
    Past English church-bells ringing,
    The Turkish watchman on his rounds,
    The Turkish pedlar singing
    Through narrow streets above the sea
    "Leblebidji! leblebidji,"

    Will surely pierce a ghostly way,
    The music underlying,
    And in the shades of falling day
...

Victoria Mary Sackville-West