Poem by James Joyce

A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight

They mouth love’s language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
Love’s breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat’s breath,
Harsh of tongue.

This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!

1. Chamber Music. 27. Though I Thy Mithridates Were
2. Watching the Needleboats at San Sabba
3. Chamber Music. 20. In the Dark Pine-Wood
4. Chamber Music. 14. My Dove, My Beautiful One
5. Chamber Music. 33. Now, O Now, in This Brown Land

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