#IrishWriters
Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butte… A sombre Y.M.C.A. young man, wat… Heart to heart talks. Bloo . . . Me? No. Blood of the Lamb.
At that hour when all things have… O lonely watcher of the skies, Do you hear the night wind and the… Of harps playing unto Love to unc… The pale gates of sunrise?
All day I hear the noise of water… Making moan, Sad as the sea—bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the wate…
Love came to us in time gone by When one at twilight shyly played And one in fear was standing nigh… For Love at first is all afraid. We were grave lovers. Love is pas…
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven’s far verge… Arches on soaring arches,
What parallel courses did Bloom a… Starting united both at normal wal… Of what did the duumvirate deliber… Music, literature, Ireland, Dubli… Did Bloom discover common factors…
The twilight turns from amethyst To deep and deeper blue, The lamp fills with a pale green g… The trees of the avenue. The old piano plays an air,
The noon’s greygolden meshes make All night a veil, The shorelamps in the sleeping lak… Laburnum tendrils trail. The sly reeds whisper to the night
Have you heard of one Humpty Dump… How he fell with a roll and a rumb… And curled up like Lord Olofa Cr… By the butt of the Magazine Wall, (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, From love’s deep slumber and from… For lo! the treees are full of sig… Whose leaves the morn admonisheth. Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Because your voice was at my side I gave him pain, Because within my hand I held Your hand again. There is no word nor any sign
A onelegged sailor, swinging himse… —Very well, indeed, father. And y… Father Conmee was wonderfully wel… Father Conmee was very glad to se… —Good afternoon, Mrs Sheehy.
Of the dark past A child is born; With joy and grief My heart is torn. Calm in his cradle
Wind whines and whines the shingle… The crazy pierstakes groan; A senile sea numbers each single Slimesilvered stone. From whining wind and colder
