James Joyce

Go seek her out all courteously,
And say I come,
Wind of spices whose song is ever Epithalamium
O, hurry over the dark lands And run upon the sea For seas and lands shall not divide us My love and me

I would in that sweet bosom be (O sweet it is and fair it is
) Where no rude wind might visit me
Because of sad austerities I would in that sweet bosom be
I would be ever in that heart (O soft I knock and soft entreat her

Of the dark pastA child is born;
With joy and
My heart is torn
Calm in his

Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough
Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now

In the dark pine-wood I would we lay,
In deep cool shadow At noon of day
How sweet to lie there,
Sweet to kiss,

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

I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers

Bid adieu, adieu, adieu,  Bid adieu to girlish days,
Happy Love is come to woo  Thee and woo thy girlish ways—The zone that doth become thee fair,
The snood upon thy yellow hair,
When thou hast heard his name upon  The bugles of the

Goldbrown upon the sated
The rockvine clusters lift and sway;
Vast wings above the lambent waters
Of sullen day

Frail the white rose and frail
Her hands that
Whose soul is sere and
Than time's wan wave

Bright cap and streamers,
He sings in the hollow:
Come follow, come follow,           All you that love
Leave dreams to the dreamers That will not after,

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