#Irish
Lean out of the window, Goldenhair, I hear you singing A merry air. My book was closed,
Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, stee… Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail… Horrid! And gold flushed more. A husky fifenote blew. Blew. Blue bloom is on the.
#Ulysses
Dear heart, why will you use me so? Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, Still are you beautiful – but O, How is your beauty raimented! Through the clear mirror of your eyes,
Of that so sweet imprisonment My soul, dearest, is fain —— Soft arms that woo me to relent And woo me to detain. Ah, could they ever hold me there
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
The Mabbot Street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-o’-the-wisps and danger signals. rows of grimy house...
Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind h...
Again! Come, give, yield all your strength t… From far a low word breathes on the brea… Its cruel calm, submission’s misery, Gentling her awe as to a soul predestine…
Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their tummies. Lozenge and comfit manuf...
The noon’s greygolden meshes make All night a veil, The shorelamps in the sleeping lake Laburnum tendrils trail. The sly reeds whisper to the night
O bella bionda, Sei come l’onda! Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild The moon a web of silence weaves In the still garden where a child
Wind whines and whines the shingle, The crazy pierstakes groan; A senile sea numbers each single Slimesilvered stone. From whining wind and colder
Lightly come or lightly go: Though thy heart presage thee woe, Vales and many a wasted sun, Oread let thy laughter run, Till the irreverent mountain air
O cool is the valley now And there, love, will we go For many a choir is singing now Where Love did sometime go. And hear you not the thrushes calling,
I heard their young hearts crying Loveward above the glancing oar And heard the prairie grasses sighing: No more, return no more! O hearts, O sighing grasses,