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.
The poet a great Novelist and he is very sensitive to sound....-Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, he suffered with the problem of eyes....nice poem by Joyce a great work is done by the PH thanks
The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume, .............. Just from Joyce.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its more than poem. Its the language of divinity and not a single soul can deny.