Difference between revisions of "Page 215"
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my Garry come back from the [[Indes?]] Wait till the [[honeying of the lune|honeying of]] | my Garry come back from the [[Indes?]] Wait till the [[honeying of the lune|honeying of]] | ||
[[honeying of the lune|the lune]], love! [[Die eve, little eve, die!]] We see that wonder in | [[honeying of the lune|the lune]], love! [[Die eve, little eve, die!]] We see that wonder in | ||
| − | your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll | + | your [[eye]]. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll |
seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the [[blue milk's|blue]] | seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the [[blue milk's|blue]] | ||
[[blue milk's|milk's]] upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! [[Bubye!]] And you, | [[blue milk's|milk's]] upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! [[Bubye!]] And you, | ||
Revision as of 15:52, 11 September 2012
them. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat coasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or my Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue milk's upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you, pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to jurna's end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the sha- dows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy- valley way. Towy I too, rathmine. Ah, but she was the queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia, trinkettoes! And sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty Dumpling, foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer and gaffer we're all their gangsters. Hadn't he seven dams to wive him? And every dam had her seven crutches. And every crutch had its seven hues. And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for me and supper for you and the doctor's bill for Joe John. Befor! Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any Etrurian Catholic Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies and their turkiss indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was the spouse? Then all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland ! Teems of times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo. Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be. Northmen's thing made southfolk's place but howmulty plurators made eachone in per- son? Latin me that, my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into oure eryan! Hircus Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord ! Twins of his bosom. Lord save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daugh- ters of. Whawk? Can't hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flitter- ing bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome? What Thom Malone? Can't hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffey- ing waters of. Ho, talk save us ! My foos won't moos. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia's daughter- sons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel
