1 мин
Слушать(AI)From Dewy Dreams
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise,
From love's deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the trees 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.
While sweetly, gently, secretly,
The flowery bells of morn are stirred And the wise choirs of faery Begin (innumerous!) to be heard.
James Joyce
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941) was an Irish novelist, short story writer, poet, teacher, and literary critic
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Simples
O bella bionda, Sei come l'onda Of cool sweet dew and radiance The moon a web of silence
Dear Heart
Dear heart, why will you use me so Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, Still are you beautiful — - but O, How is your beauty raimented
She Weeps over Rahoon
Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling, Where my dark lover lies Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling, At grey moonrise
O It Was Out by Donnycarney
O, it was out by Donnycarney When the bat flew from tree to tree My love and I did walk together; And sweet were the words she said to me Along with us the summer wind Went murmuring — - O, happily — - But softer than the breath of ...
