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- Джеймс Джойс
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Thrilled
she
listened
,
bending
in
sympathy
to
hear
.
Blank
face
.
Virgin
should
say
:
or
fingered
only
.
Write
something
on
it
:
page
.
If
not
what
becomes
of
them
?
Decline
,
despair
.
Keeps
them
young
.
Even
admire
themselves
.
See
.
Play
on
her
.
Lip
blow
.
Body
of
white
woman
,
a
flute
alive
.
Blow
gentle
.
Loud
.
Three
holes
,
all
women
.
Goddess
I
didn
’
t
see
.
They
want
it
.
Not
too
much
polite
.
That
’
s
why
he
gets
them
.
Gold
in
your
pocket
,
brass
in
your
face
.
Say
something
.
Make
her
hear
.
With
look
to
look
.
Songs
without
words
.
Molly
,
that
hurdygurdy
boy
.
She
knew
he
meant
the
monkey
was
sick
.
Or
because
so
like
the
Spanish
.
Understand
animals
too
that
way
.
Solomon
did
.
Gift
of
nature
.
Ventriloquise
.
My
lips
closed
.
Think
in
my
stom
.
What
?
Will
?
You
?
I
.
Want
.
You
.
To
.
With
hoarse
rude
fury
the
yeoman
cursed
,
swelling
in
apoplectic
bitch
’
s
bastard
.
A
good
thought
,
boy
,
to
come
.
One
hour
’
s
your
time
to
live
,
your
last
.
Tap
.
Tap
.
Thrill
now
.
Pity
they
feel
.
To
wipe
away
a
tear
for
martyrs
that
want
to
,
dying
to
,
die
.
For
all
things
dying
,
for
all
things
born
.
Poor
Mrs
Purefoy
.
Hope
she
’
s
over
.
Because
their
wombs
.
A
liquid
of
womb
of
woman
eyeball
gazed
under
a
fence
of
lashes
,
calmly
,
hearing
.
See
real
beauty
of
the
eye
when
she
not
speaks
.
On
yonder
river
.
At
each
slow
satiny
heaving
bosom
’
s
wave
(
her
heaving
embon
)
red
rose
rose
slowly
sank
red
rose
.
Heartbeats
:
her
breath
:
breath
that
is
life
.
And
all
the
tiny
tiny
fernfoils
trembled
of
maidenhair
.
But
look
.
The
bright
stars
fade
.
O
rose
!
Castile
.
The
morn
.
Ha
.
Lidwell
.
For
him
then
not
for
.
Infatuated
.
I
like
that
?
See
her
from
here
though
.
Popped
corks
,
splashes
of
beerfroth
,
stacks
of
empties
.
