That shoot from many a stately mosque.
The voice of bird and tinkling water
Sounds cheerly in the cloudless morn,
That comes to thee, its radiant daughter,
Across the glittering Golden Horn;
And like the wave, whose flood of brightness
Is seen alone by eyes on shore,
Thy sunlit being moves in lightness
Nor knows the beauty all adore.
Thou hast no world beyond the chamber