Poem by James Joyce

Tilly

He travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they know,
He drives his beasts above Cabra.

The voice tells them home is warm.
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.
He drives them with a flowering branch before him,
Smoke pluming their foreheads.

Boor, bond of the herd,
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!

1. Chamber Music. 20. In the Dark Pine-Wood
2. Chamber Music. 11. Bid Adieu, Adieu, Adieu
3. Satire on the Brothers Fay
4. Chamber Music. 14. My Dove, My Beautiful One
5. Chamber Music. 31. O, It Was Out by Donnycarney

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