Constantinople - The Muezzin

    Above the city at his feet,
    Above the dome, above the sea,
    He rises unconfined and free
    To break upon the noonday heat.

    He turns around the parapet,
    Black-robed against the marble tower;
    His singing gains or loses power
    In pacing round the minaret.

    A brother to the singing birds
    He never knew restraining walls,
    But freely rises, freely falls
    The rhythm of the sacred words.

    I would that it to me were given
    To climb each day the muezzin's stair
    And in the warm and silent air
    To sing my heart out into Heaven.

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

A Creed

Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Simple Poetry

Constantinople - Leblebidji*

Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Simple Poetry

Constantinople, March MCMXV

Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Simple Poetry

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

Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Simple Poetry

English

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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

Morning In Constantinople

    She has an early morning of her own,
    A blending of the mist and sea and sun
    Into an undistinguishable one,
    And Saint Sophia, from her lordly throne

    Rises above the opalescent cloud,
    A shadowy dome and soaring minaret
    Visable though the base be hidden yet
    Beneath the veiling wreaths of milky shroud,

    As some dark Turkish beauty haughtily
    Glances above the yashmak's snowy fold.
    Beyond Stamboul's long stretch, a bar of gold
    Falls from the sun across the distant sea.

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

Eastern Sunset.

'Tis only the nightingale's warbled strain,
    That floats through the evening sky:
With his note of love, he replies again,
    To the muezzin's holy cry;
As it sweetly sounds on the rosy air,
"Allah, il allah! come to prayer!"
Warm o'er the waters the red sun is glowing,
'Tis the last parting glance of his splendour and might,
While each rippling wave on the bright shore is throwing
Its white crest, that breaks into showers of light.
Each distant mosque and minaret
Is shining in the setting sun,
Whose farewell look is brighter yet,
Than that with which his course begun.
On the dark blue mountains his smile is bright,
It glows on the orange grove's waving height,
And breaks through its shade in long lines of light.
No sound on the earth, and no sound in...

Frances Anne Kemble

Constantinople - The Greek Han

    A sunny court with wooden balconies,
    And wool hung out to dry in gaudy skeins,
    A fountain, and some pigeons murmuringly
    Picking up yellow grains.

    Pass through a little tumble-down green door
    Into the dark and crowded shop; the Turk
    Crouching above the brasier, smiles and nods;
    'Tis all his daily work.

    Here marble heads and alabaster jars,
    Fragments of porphyry and Persian tiles,
    Lie heaped in ruin, and at our dismay
    The old Turk shrugs and smiles,

    And sips his coffee, reaching out a hand
    To throw upon the brasier at his feet
    A handful of dried herbs, whose sudden smoke
    Rises up incense-sweet.

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

Constantinople, March MCMXV

    I
    Queen of a double empire still she stands,
    And watches with superb indifferent eyes
    The eager wooing of Imperial hands
    Towards so fair and coveted a prize.

    Royal and imperial suitors has she known
    Pass one by one across her dreaming years,
    And some a while have climbed the golden throne,
    And some have passed away in blood and tears;

    For many emperors have sought her grace
    Since the first Constantine in sweeping cloak
    Her seven hills with broad unhurrying pace
    Measured, and rested not till Heaven spoke.

    A haughty fatalist Byzantium waits
    What chance the storing centuries bring forth:
    Another lover almost at the gates,
    Heralded by the cannon of the North,

    A Nor...

Victoria Mary Sackville-West

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!

Victoria Mary Sackville-West