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Moon over Marmaris“Sleep now world” did say the falling sun, who first held sway upon this saddened soul, now silent sits in shadow. From underneath the twisted tiles of aged vine, low-voiced murmurs lend cadenza to the whispers of the night. When from that silence, pierced but calmly by cicada in the groves, above the shrouded, pine-clad summits . . . a whitened moon arose. At first . . her veils of gold and silver lit darkened skies above the bay . . . then bright above the Taurus mountains Silva made her way. Then shadows lightened, tinged with sorrow, from the day and for the morrow. For ne'er the beauty, ne'er the sight, compares with this fair Turkish night. And in rising did her suitor lay his noble head to rest. To pass the world into her bosom . . . deep beneath her cool caress. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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