James Joyce

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

James Joyce Poems

1. A Flower Given To My Daughter 1/3/2003
2. A Memory Of The Players In A Mirror At Midnight 1/3/2003
3. A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man 2/9/2015
4. A Prayer 1/3/2003
5. All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters 1/3/2003
6. Alone 1/3/2003
7. At That Hour 1/3/2003
8. Bahnhofstrasse 1/3/2003
9. Be Not Sad 1/3/2003
10. Because Your Voice Was At My Side 1/3/2003
11. Bid Adieu To Maidenhood 1/3/2003
12. Bright Cap And Streamers 1/3/2003
13. Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So? 1/3/2003
14. Ecce Puer 1/3/2003
15. Flood 1/3/2003
16. From Dewy Dreams 1/3/2003
17. From 'Ulysses' 2/3/2015
18. Gentle Lady, Do Not Sing 1/3/2003
19. Go Seek Her Out 1/3/2003
20. He Who Hath Glory Lost 1/3/2003
21. I Hear An Army Charging Upon The Land 1/3/2003
22. I Would In That Sweet Bosom Be 1/3/2003
23. In The Dark Pine-Wood 1/3/2003
24. Lean Out Of The Window 1/3/2003
25. Lightly Come Or Lightly Go 1/3/2003
26. Love Came To Us 1/3/2003
27. My Dove, My Beautiful One 1/3/2003
28. My Love Is In A Light Attire 1/3/2003
29. Night Piece 1/3/2003
30. Now, O Now In This Brown Land 1/3/2003
31. O Cool Is The Valley Now 1/3/2003
32. O Sweetheart, Hear You 1/3/2003
33. O, It Was Out By Donnycarney 1/3/2003
34. Of That So Sweet Imprisonment 1/3/2003
35. On The Beach At Fontana 1/3/2003
36. Rain Has Fallen All The Day 1/3/2003
37. She Weeps Over Rahoon 1/3/2003
38. Silently She's Combing 1/3/2003
39. Simples 1/3/2003
40. Sleep Now, O Sleep Now 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

From Dewy Dreams

From dewy dreams, my soul, arise,
From love's deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the treees are full of sighs
Whose leaves the morn admonisheth.

Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Where softly-burning fires appear,
Making to tremble all those veils
Of grey and golden gossamer.

[Hata Bildir]