James Joyce

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

James Joyce Poems

1. Song 2/2/2012
2. Villanelle Of The Temptress 2/9/2015
3. A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man 2/9/2015
4. From 'Ulysses' 2/3/2015
5. Though I Thy Mithridates Were 1/3/2003
6. Watching The Needleboats At San Sabba 1/3/2003
7. O, It Was Out By Donnycarney 1/3/2003
8. Silently She's Combing 1/3/2003
9. Now, O Now In This Brown Land 1/3/2003
10. Tutto È Sciolto 1/3/2003
11. Thou Leanest To The Shell Of Night 1/3/2003
12. Of That So Sweet Imprisonment 1/3/2003
13. Who Goes Amid The Green Wood 1/3/2003
14. O Cool Is The Valley Now 1/3/2003
15. O Sweetheart, Hear You 1/3/2003
16. My Love Is In A Light Attire 1/3/2003
17. On The Beach At Fontana 1/3/2003
18. What Counsel Has The Hooded Moon 1/3/2003
19. Tilly 1/3/2003
20. The Ballad Of Persse O'Reilly 1/3/2003
21. Simples 1/3/2003
22. When The Shy Star Goes Forth In Heaven 1/3/2003
23. Winds Of May 1/3/2003
24. This Heart That Flutters Near My Heart 1/3/2003
25. Strings In The Earth And Air 1/3/2003
26. She Weeps Over Rahoon 1/3/2003
27. Rain Has Fallen All The Day 1/3/2003
28. The Twilight Turns 1/3/2003
29. Bright Cap And Streamers 1/3/2003
30. He Who Hath Glory Lost 1/3/2003
31. Lightly Come Or Lightly Go 1/3/2003
32. In The Dark Pine-Wood 1/3/2003
33. A Memory Of The Players In A Mirror At Midnight 1/3/2003
34. Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So? 1/3/2003
35. I Would In That Sweet Bosom Be 1/3/2003
36. Bid Adieu To Maidenhood 1/3/2003
37. Love Came To Us 1/3/2003
38. From Dewy Dreams 1/3/2003
39. Go Seek Her Out 1/3/2003
40. Bahnhofstrasse 1/3/2003
Best Poem of James Joyce

All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters

All day I hear the noise of waters
Making moan,
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going
Forth alone,
He hears the winds cry to the water's
Monotone.

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing
Where I go.
I hear the noise of many waters
Far below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing
To and fro.

Read the full of All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters

From Dewy Dreams

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.

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