At that hour when all things have repose
James Joyce
1882 to 1941
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At that hour when all things have repose,
lonely watcher of the skies,
Do you hear night wind and the sighs
Of harps playing unto to unclose
The pale gates of sunrise?
When things repose, do you alone
Awake to hear sweet harps play
To Love before him on way,
And the night wind answering in antiphon
night is overgone?
Play on, invisible harps, unto Love,
Whose way in heaven is aglow
At that when soft lights come and go,
Soft sweet music the air above
And in the earth below.
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