Complete Works of James Joyce (323 page)

That I am feeble, that my fe
e
t

That I am feeble, that my feet

Are weak as young twigs in the wind;

That this poor heart, which was of old

So reckless, passionate and proud,

Shivers at trifles and wanes cold

Whene’er thy fair face shows a cloud.

A golden bird in azure skies,

Late radiant with sunbright wings,

Is fallen down to earth, and sighs

The grieving soul. But no grief is thi
n
e

The grieving soul. But no grief is thine

Who driftest the creeks and shallows among,

Shaking thy hair of the clinging brine.

Why is thy garment closer drawn?

Thine eyes are sad, my sorrowful one,

Thy tresses are strewn with the woe of dawn,

The pearly dawn weeping the sun.

Hast thou no word - to raise - to ease

Our souls? Well, go, for the faint far cry

Of the seabirds calls thee over the seas.

Let us fling to the winds all moping and madne
s
s

Let us fling to the winds all moping and madness,

Play us a jig in the spirit of gladness

On the creaky, old squeaky strings of the fiddle.

The why of the world is an answerless riddle

Puzzlesome, tiresome, hard to unriddle

To the seventeen devils with sapient sadness:

Tra la, tra la.

Hands that soothe my burning ey
e
s

Hands that soothe my burning eyes

In the silence of moonrise,

At the midmost hour of night,

   
Trouble me not.

Fingers soft as rain alight,

Like flowers borne upon the night

From the pure deeps of sapphire skies.

Now a whisper... now a ga
l
e

Now a whisper... now a gale

List, ah list, how drear it calls!

There is in it that appals

As it wanders round the walls,

Like a forlorn woman, pale.

   
List the wind!

O, queen, do on thy clo
a
k

O, queen, do on thy cloak

Of scarlet, passion hue,

And lift, attending folk,

A mournful ululu,

For flame-spun is the cloak.

Fling out thy voice, O lyre,

Forth of thy seven strings.

Requiem eternam dona ei, Domi
n
e

‘Requiem eternam dona ei, Domine’;

Silently, sorrowfully I bent down my head,

For I had hated him - a poor creature of clay:

And all my envious, bitter, cruel thoughts that came

Out of the past and stood by the bier whereon he lay

Pointed their long, lean fingers through the gloom... O Name

Ineffable, proud Name to whom the cries ascend

From lost, angelical orders, seraph flame to flame,

For this end have I hated him - for this poor end?

Of thy dark life, without a love, without a frie
n
d

Of thy dark life, without a love, without a friend,

   
Here is, indeed, an end.

There are no lips to kiss this foul remains of thee,

   
O, dead Unchastity!

The curse of loneliness broods silent on thee still,

   
Doing its utmost will,

And men shall cast thee justly to thy narrow tomb,

   
A sad and bitter doom.

I intone the high anth
e
m

I intone the high anthem,

Partaking in their festival.

Swing out, swing in, the night is dark,

Magical hair, alive with glee,

Winnowing spark after spark,

Star after star, rapturously.

Toss and toss, amazing arms;

Witches, weave upon the floor

Your subtle-woven web of charms.

Some are comely and some are so
u
r

Some are comely and some are sour,

Some are dark as wintry mould,

Some are fair as a golden shower.

To music liquid as a stream

They move with dazzling symmetry;

Their flashing limbs blend in a gleam

Of luminous-swift harmony.

They wear gold crescents on their heads,

Hornèd and brilliant as the moon:

Flower to flower kni
t
s

Flower to flower knits

Of willing lips and leaves:

Thy springtide of bliss

Maketh the breezes sing,

And blossoms yield their kiss

Unto amorous thieves.

But the arrow that flies

Must fall spent at last;