An experiment with time

Chamber Music
James Joyce (1882-1941)


 From dewy dream, my soul, arise...

From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, 
From love’s deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the treees 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.

 Who goes amid the green...

Who goes amid the green wood 
With springtide all adorning her?
Who goes amid the merry green wood 
To make it merrier?

Who passes in the sunlight 
By ways that know the light footfall?
Who passes in the sweet sunlight 
With mien so virginal?

The ways of all the woodland 
Gleam with a soft and golden fire—
For whom does all the sunny woodland 
Carry so brave attire?

O, it is for my true love 
The woods their rich apparel wear—
O, it is for my own true love, 
That is so young and fair.

Lean out of the window, 
Goldenhair,I hear you singing 
A merry air.

My book was closed: 
I read no more,
Watching the fire dance 
On the floor.

I have left my book, 
I have left my room
For I heard you singing 
Through the gloom,

Singing and singing 
A merry air.
Lean out of the window, 
Goldenhair.

When the shy goes forth in heaven...

When the shy star goes forth in heaven,
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.

O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover's chant,
'Tis I that am your visitant.


At that hour when all things...

At that hour when all things have repose, 
O lonely watcher of the skies, 
Do you hear the night wind and the sighs
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose 
The pale gates of sunrise?

When all things repose do you alone 
Awake to hear the sweet harps play 
To Love before him on his way,
And the night wind answering in antiphon 
Till night is overgone?

Play on, invisible harps, unto Love, 
Whose way in heaven is aglow 
At that hour when soft lights come and go,
Soft sweet music in the air above 
And in the earth below.

The twilight turns from amethyst...

The twilight turns from amethyst 
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow 
The trees of the avenue.

The old piano plays an air, 
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys, 
Her head inclines this way.

Shy thoughts and grave wide eyes and hands 
That wander as they list--
The twilight turns to darker blue 
With lights of amethyst.

Strings in the earth and air...

Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument

Alone
James Joyce (1882-1941)

The moon's greygolden meshes make
All night a veil,
The shorelamps in the sleeping lake
Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night
A name -her name-
And all my soul is a delight,
A swoon of shame.