James Joyce

(2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941 / Dublin / Ireland)

James Joyce Poems

1. Song 2/2/2012
2. A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man 2/9/2015
3. Villanelle Of The Temptress 2/9/2015
4. From 'Ulysses' 2/3/2015
5. Though I Thy Mithridates Were 1/3/2003
6. Watching The Needleboats At San Sabba 1/3/2003
7. O, It Was Out By Donnycarney 1/3/2003
8. Tutto È Sciolto 1/3/2003
9. Thou Leanest To The Shell Of Night 1/3/2003
10. Of That So Sweet Imprisonment 1/3/2003
11. Who Goes Amid The Green Wood 1/3/2003
12. O Cool Is The Valley Now 1/3/2003
13. The Ballad Of Persse O'Reilly 1/3/2003
14. What Counsel Has The Hooded Moon 1/3/2003
15. Silently She's Combing 1/3/2003
16. Now, O Now In This Brown Land 1/3/2003
17. When The Shy Star Goes Forth In Heaven 1/3/2003
18. On The Beach At Fontana 1/3/2003
19. Simples 1/3/2003
20. O Sweetheart, Hear You 1/3/2003
21. My Love Is In A Light Attire 1/3/2003
22. Tilly 1/3/2003
23. Winds Of May 1/3/2003
24. This Heart That Flutters Near My Heart 1/3/2003
25. Strings In The Earth And Air 1/3/2003
26. She Weeps Over Rahoon 1/3/2003
27. Rain Has Fallen All The Day 1/3/2003
28. The Twilight Turns 1/3/2003
29. Bright Cap And Streamers 1/3/2003
30. In The Dark Pine-Wood 1/3/2003
31. He Who Hath Glory Lost 1/3/2003
32. A Memory Of The Players In A Mirror At Midnight 1/3/2003
33. Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So? 1/3/2003
34. Bid Adieu To Maidenhood 1/3/2003
35. Lightly Come Or Lightly Go 1/3/2003
36. From Dewy Dreams 1/3/2003
37. Bahnhofstrasse 1/3/2003
38. I Would In That Sweet Bosom Be 1/3/2003
39. Flood 1/3/2003
40. Go Seek Her Out 1/3/2003
Best Poem of James Joyce

All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters

All day I hear the noise of waters
Making moan,
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going
Forth alone,
He hears the winds cry to the water's
Monotone.

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing
Where I go.
I hear the noise of many waters
Far below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing
To and fro.

Read the full of All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters

At That Hour

At that hour when all things have repose,
O lonely watcher of the skies,
Do you hear the night wind and the sighs
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose
The pale gates of sunrise?

When all things repose, do you alone
Awake to hear the sweet harps play
To Love before him on his way,

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