The camel snorts. He won't get up. .
His grumbling flanks are heaving. Give him
A kick?.. The criers' calls atop
The mosques dawn's sleepy streets enliven.

Pearl-grey, Stambul shows from afar.
Mist clothes the strait, its blue waves veiling.
Into the Sea of Marmora,
Through haze and smoke the ships are sailing.

The smoke, white orchards, drifts from you,
And, though it has imbibed the chill of
Sea water, smells of summer dew,
Of dung, of honey and vanilla.

A Greek a great red samovar
Bears from his teahouse; sheep are taken
Across the square to the bazaar;
Two beggars, stretched nearby, awaken.

Time to move off, go east, toward
A land where morning burns and blazes
And where across the sun-parched sward
A bird's small, slanting shadow races.