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1882–1941

XXXV

James Joyce

All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone,

He hears the winds cry to the water's Monotone. The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing Where I go.

I hear the noise of many waters Far below. All day, all night, I hear them flowing To and fro.

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XXXV · James Joyce · Poetry Cove