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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 416/821
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First
night
when
first
I
saw
her
at
Mat
Dillon
’
s
in
Terenure
.
Yellow
,
black
lace
she
wore
.
Musical
chairs
.
We
two
the
last
.
Fate
.
After
her
.
Fate
.
Round
and
round
slow
.
Quick
round
.
We
two
.
All
looked
.
Halt
.
Down
she
sat
.
All
ousted
looked
.
Lips
laughing
.
Yellow
knees
.
—
Charmed
my
eye
.
.
.
Singing
.
Waiting
she
sang
.
I
turned
her
music
.
Full
voice
of
perfume
of
what
perfume
does
your
lilactrees
.
Bosom
I
saw
,
both
full
,
throat
warbling
.
First
I
saw
.
She
thanked
me
.
Why
did
she
me
?
Fate
.
Spanishy
eyes
.
Under
a
peartree
alone
patio
this
hour
in
old
Madrid
one
side
in
shadow
Dolores
shedolores
.
At
me
.
Luring
.
Ah
,
alluring
.
—
Martha
!
Ah
,
Martha
!
Quitting
all
languor
Lionel
cried
in
grief
,
in
cry
of
passion
dominant
to
love
to
return
with
deepening
yet
with
rising
chords
of
harmony
.
In
cry
of
lionel
loneliness
that
she
should
know
,
must
martha
feel
.
For
only
her
he
waited
.
Where
?
Here
there
try
there
here
all
try
where
.
Somewhere
.
—
Co
-
ome
,
thou
lost
one
!
Co
-
ome
,
thou
dear
one
!
Alone
.
One
love
.
One
hope
.
One
comfort
me
.
Martha
,
chestnote
,
return
!
—
Come
!
It
soared
,
a
bird
,
it
held
its
flight
,
a
swift
pure
cry
,
soar
silver
orb
it
leaped
serene
,
speeding
,
sustained
,
to
come
,
don
’
t
spin
it
out
too
long
long
breath
he
breath
long
life
,
soaring
high
,
high
resplendent
,
aflame
,
crowned
,
high
in
the
effulgence
symbolistic
,
high
,
of
the
etherial
bosom
,
high
,
of
the
high
vast
irradiation
everywhere
all
soaring
all
around
about
the
all
,
the
endlessnessnessness
.
.
.
