Poetry

Poetry
By James Joyce.




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Chamber Music
 

I


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.

 

II


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 thought and grave wide eyes and hands

That wander as they list⁠—

The twilight turns to darker blue

With lights of amethyst.

 

III


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.

 

IV


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.

 

V


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.

 

VI


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!)

Where only peace might be my part.

Austerities were all the sweeter

So I were ever in that heart.

 

VII


My love is in a light attire

Among the apple-trees,

Where the gay winds do most desire

To run in companies.
There, where the gay winds stay to woo

The young leaves as they pass,

My love goes slowly, bending to

Her shadow on the grass;
And where the sky’s a pale blue cup

Over the laughing land,

My love goes lightly, holding up

Her dress with dainty hand.