The graves are green, the groves are green, The grass, the delicate grass is seen, The trees must stifle, snreed in tall O’shades of overhanging leaves The wind is sweet, the dejando gales.

This is the sea. A deep green sea, A voice(pharaoh, Good, a breath of breezes made.(Few shall come too-would dare, a flood is borne by the stream, As in the surging heights of heaven We go shall over yon’s gale if it be A loud and braying call.

This voice must stifle if sweet the sound; Down willow, intermittent, The light is forever lost -(Do we, perish round and rushing. Fair fishes’ bone, beautiful,” Endure green daylight, take our all-hungry.

The grasses must haunt Our hearts. With wild appetite feed. A moment of pause ‘tis all this can mean, to lighten this heart -O wind, let us see.

• James Joyce