#IrishWriters
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
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...
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…
Strings in the earth and air Make music sweet; Strings by the river where The willows meet. There’s music along the river
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
Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus. Deshil Holles Eamus. Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn, quickening and w...
Goldbrown upon the sated flood The rockvine clusters lift and swa… Vast wings above the lambent water… Of sullen day. A waste of waters ruthlessly
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...
Of the dark past A child is born; With joy and grief My heart is torn. Calm in his cradle
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
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,
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…
Frail the white rose and frail are Her hands that gave Whose soul is sere and paler Than time’s wan wave. Rosefrail and fair—yet frailest
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 e…