MORNING IN CONSTANTINOPLE
Reading edition
SHE has an early morning of her own, A blending of the mist and sea and sun Into an undistinguishable one, And Saint Sophia, from her lordly throne
Rises above the opalescent cloud, A shadowy dome and soaring minaret Visable though the base be hidden yet Beneath the veiling wreaths of milky shroud,
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.