The Bosphorus I've never witnessed, Don't ask me of it furthermore. Though your eyes do glance at me, all sea-like, Burning out in blueish flame. To Baghdad in a caravan I've never travelled Silks and henna there I've never brought. But wane over me your lovely stature, On your knees I ask to let me rest. Although me asking doesn't seem to matter, Once more, you never seem to care, That in a distant land called Russia I'm a known and welcomed, lauded poet. In my soul, a garmon's song plays on, I hear dogs howl in the moonlight. Are you sure, my Persian wonder, You'd never see my distant, blueish home? I appreared here not from boredom, You called, ephemerally, for me. And all at once, your swan-like hands Entwined me in two wings, and now I'm here. In my fate, i’ve searched for peace a while And though I do not scorn my past Tell me something that’s worthwhile About your happy motherland. Quiet a garmon's mourning in my soul Fill me with your breaths, your fresher charms, So of my distant, Northern wonder I never sigh, or think, or miss. And though the Bosphorus I've never witnessed, I'll make a fiction of it, if you want. Oh, well - your eyes do glance at me, all sea-like Burning out in blueish flame. 1924