#Irish
Before Nelson’s pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymou...
#Ulysses
Though I thy Mithridates were, Framed to defy the poison—dart, Yet must thou fold me unaware To know the rapture of thy heart, And I but render and confess
Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way
The twilight turns from amethyst To deep and deeper blue, The lamp fills with a pale green glow The trees of the avenue. The old piano plays an air,
Thou leanest to the shell of night, Dear lady, a divining ear. In that soft choiring of delight What sound hath made thy heart to fear? Seemed it of rivers rushing forth
Winds of May, that dance on the sea, Dancing a ring—around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overhead The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air,
At that hour when all things have repose… O lonely watcher of the skies, Do you hear the night wind and the sighs Of harps playing unto Love to unclose The pale gates of sunrise?
Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven’s far verges fain… Arches on soaring arches,
All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the water’s
Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly fal… Where my dark lover lies. Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly ca… At grey moonrise. Love, hear thou
By Lorries along sir John Rogerson’s quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask’s the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And p...
A birdless heaven, seadusk, one lone sta… Piercing the west, As thou, fond heart, love’s time, so fai… Rememberest. The clear young eyes’ soft look, the can…
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
Wind whines and whines the shingle, The crazy pierstakes groan; A senile sea numbers each single Slimesilvered stone. From whining wind and colder
He Who Hath Glory Lost He who hath glory lost, nor hath Found any soul to fellow his, Among his foes in scorn and wrath Holding to ancient nobleness,