For The Years, He Felt, Had Not

Every Age Must Look For Its Sanction To Its Poetry And Philosophy, For In These The Human Mind, As It Looks Backward Or Forward, Attains To An Eternal State.

He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not For Himself: For The Words, So Beautiful And Sad, Like Music.

When The Soul Of A Man Is Born In This Country There Are Nets Flown At It To Hold It Back From Flight.

Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.

Stephen Jerked His Thumb Towards The Window, Saying: — That Is God. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee! — What? Mr Deasy Asked. — A Shout In The Street, Stephen Answered, Shrugging His Shoulders.