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
From the grey deserts of the north?
That mood of thine
Is his, if thou but scan it well,
Who a mad tale bequeaths to us
At ghosting hour conjurable -- -
And all for some strange name he read
In Purchas or in Holinshed.
Back to James Joyce
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.
Comments1WOW, I REMEMBER STUMBLING UPON THIS JAMES JOYCE POEM AS A YOUNGSTER! YOU CAN LOSE YOURSELF IN THE MYSTICAL WONDERS OF HIS VERSE! HE DEFINITELY HAD A WAY WITH WORDS THAT HAS STOOD THE TEST OF TIME. I'M GLAD TO HAVE RE-ENCOUNTERED IT AGES LATER. IT NEVER LOSES ITS MAGIC! TRULY A LITERARY MASTERPIECE!