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. 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. 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 Northern King to wed the Eastern Queen, An iron clasp to set the shining gem, Thrice-changed Constantinople to be seen The Jewel of a Russian diadem! II O Saint Sophia, where the footstep falls Softly beneath the roofs of burnished gold, Shields of the Caliphs hang upon thy walls, Brand of bereaved dishonour ages old. His charger raised on Christian corpses high, --O ravished bride of Christianity!-- Here struck Mahomet's hand as he rode by, And seared the lustre of the porphyry, And, interrupted in the sacred feast, Hearing the advent of the conqueror surge, Into the wall miraculous the priest Entered, and waits the summons to emerge. So on that high and ceremonial day When Russian Czar and prince, and Christian lord Throng Saint Sophia in their packed array To see the church's heritage restored,