James Joyce  February 2, 1882 –  January 13, 1941   Irish novelist, short story writer, poet, teacher, and literary critic

Dear Heart 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, Through the soft sigh of kiss to kiss, Desolate winds assail with cries The shadowy garden where love is. And soon shall love dissolved be When over us the wild winds blow — - But you, dear love, too dear to me, Alas! why will you use me so? Bid Adieu Bid adieu, adieu, adieu,   Bid adieu to girlish days, Happy Love is come to woo   Thee and woo thy girlish ways— The zone that doth become thee fair, The snood upon thy yellow hair, When thou hast heard his name upon   The bugles of the cherubim Begin thou softly to unzone   Thy girlish bosom unto him And softly to undo the snood That is the sign of maidenhood. I Hear an Army I hear an army charging upon the land, And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees: Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand, Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers. They cry unto the night their battle-name: I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter. They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame, Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil. They come shaking in triumph their long, green hair: They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore. My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair? My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone? Nightpiece Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume, Arches on soaring arches, Night's sindark nave. Seraphim, The lost hosts awaken To service till In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim, Raised when she has and shaken Her thurible. And long and loud, To night's nave upsoaring, A starknell tolls As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud, Voidward from the adoring Waste of souls. In the Dark Pine-Wood In the dark pine-wood I would we lay, In deep cool shadow At noon of day. How sweet to lie there, Sweet to kiss, Where the great pine-forest Enaisled is! Thy kiss descending Sweeter were With a soft tumult Of thy hair. O unto the pine-wood At noon of day Come with me now, Sweet love, away. Of That So Sweet Imprisonment 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 Gladly were I a prisoner! Dearest, through interwoven arms By love made tremulous, That night allures me where alarms Nowise may trouble us; But sleep to dreamier sleep be wed Where soul with soul lies prisoned. Lean Out of the Window Lean out of the window, Goldenhair, I hear you singing A merry air. My book was closed, I read no more, Watching the fire dance On the floor. I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom. Singing and singing A merry air, Lean out of the window, Goldenhair. Lightly Come or Lightly Go 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 Ripple all thy flying hair. Lightly, lightly — - ever so: Clouds that wrap the vales below At the hour of evenstar Lowliest attendants are; Love and laughter song-confessed When the heart is heaviest. Sleep Now, O Sleep Now Sleep now, O sleep now, O you unquiet heart! A voice crying "Sleep now" Is heard in my heart. The voice of the winter Is heard at the door. O sleep, for the winter Is crying "Sleep no more." My kiss will give peace now And quiet to your heart — - Sleep on in peace now, O you unquiet heart! Rain Has Fallen All the Day Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart. Silently She's Combing Silently she's combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves And on the dappled grass, And still she's combing her long hair Before the looking-glass. I pray you, cease to comb out, Comb out your long hair, For I have heard of witchery Under a pretty air, That makes as one thing to the lover Staying and going hence, All fair, with many a pretty air And many a negligence. This Heart That Flutters Near My Heart This heart that flutters near my heart 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! — - And all my happiness. For there, as in some mossy nest The wrens will divers treasures keep, I laid those treasures I possessed Ere that mine eyes had learned to weep. Shall we not be as wise as they Though love live but a day? Thou Leanest to the Shell of Night 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. My Love Is in a Light Attire 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 woo The young leaves as they pass, My love goes slowly, bending to Her shadow on the grass; And where the sky's a pale blue cup Over the laughing land, My love goes lightly, holding up Her dress with dainty hand. When the Star Goes Forth in Heaven When the shy star goes forth in heaven All maidenly, disconsolate, Hear you amid the drowsy even One who is singing by your gate. His song is softer than the dew And he is come to visit you. O bend no more in revery When he at eventide is calling. Nor muse: Who may this singer be Whose song about my heart is falling? Know you by this, the lover's chant, 'Tis I that am your visitant. Strings in the Earth and Air Strings in the earth and air Make music sweet; Strings by the river where The willows meet. There's music along the river For Love wanders there, Pale flowers on his mantle, Dark leaves on his hair. All softly playing, With head to the music bent, And fingers straying Upon an instrument. Winds of May Winds of May, that dance on the sea, Dancing a ring-around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overhead The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air, Saw you my true love anywhere? Welladay! Welladay! For the winds of May! Love is unhappy when love is away! What Counsel Has the Hooded Moon What counsel has the hooded moon Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet, Of Love in ancient plenilune, Glory and stars beneath his feet — - A sage that is but kith and kin With the comedian Capuchin? Believe me rather that am wise In disregard of the divine, A glory kindles in those eyes Trembles to starlight. Mine, O Mine! No more be tears in moon or mist For thee, sweet sentimentalist. A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man Are you not weary of ardent ways, Lure of the fallen seraphim? Tell no more of enchanted days. Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze And you have had your will of him. Are you not weary of ardent ways? Above the flame the smoke of praise Goes up from ocean rim to rim. Tell no more of enchanted days. Our broken cries and mournful lays Rise in one eucharistic hymn. Are you not weary of ardent ways? While sacrificing hands upraise The chalice flowing to the brim, Tell no more of enchanted days. And still you hold our longing gaze With languorous look and lavish limb! Are you not weary of ardent ways? Tell no more of enchanted days.

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