#IrishWriters
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried henco...
My love is in a light attire Among the apple—trees, Where the gay winds do most desire To run in companies. There, where the gay winds stay to…
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...
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...
I hear an army charging upon the l… And the thunder of horses plunging… Arrogant, in black armour, behind… Disdaining the reins, with flutter… They cry unto the night their batt…
I would in that sweet bosom be (O sweet it is and fair it is!) Where no rude wind might visit me. Because of sad austerities I would in that sweet bosom be.
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
This heart that flutters near my h… My hope and all my riches is, Unhappy when we draw apart And happy between kiss and kiss: My hope and all my riches ——yes! —…
Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn. A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, rose of Castile. And a call, pure, long and throbbing. Longindying cal...
Urbane, to comfort them, the quaker librarian purred: —And we have, have we not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. A great poet on a great brother poet. A hesitating soul taking...
My dove, my beautiful one, Arise, arise! The night-dew lies Upon my lips and eyes. The odorous winds are weaving
My love is in a light attire Among the apple trees, Where the gay winds do most desire To run in companies. There, where the gay winds stay to…
When the shy star goes forth in he… All maidenly, disconsolate, Hear you amid the drowsy even One who is singing by your gate. His song is softer than the dew
Rain on Rahoon falls softly, soft… Where my dark lover lies. Sad is his voice that calls me, sa… At grey moonrise. Love, hear thou
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