James Joyce

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

Thou Leanest To The Shell Of Night - Poem by James Joyce

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.


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Read poems about / on: fear, night, heart, river



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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