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. 33. Now, O Now, in This Brown Land
2. A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight
3. Chamber Music. 31. O, It Was Out by Donnycarney
4. Chamber Music. 4. When the Shy Star Goes Forth in Heaven
5. Chamber Music. 6. I Would in That Sweet Bosom Be

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