Loom of the Moon
Endless tides within her blood
A wine dark sea
Behold the handmade of the moon
In sleep the wet sign calls her hour,
bids her rise
Mouth to her
mouth,
Mouth to her womb
A dead sea in a dry land grey and old, old now
Sunken deep into the earth
Under up-swelling tides he sees the writhing weeds
Drowned father of a virgin birth
Those lovely girls by the sad sea waves
A chorus girl's romance
Come touch me soon
Form of my form, loom of the moon
The Summer evening had begun to fold the earth
In its embrace of mystery
A beacon ever to the storm tossed heart of man
Mary, star of the sea
Those lovely girls by the sad sea waves
A chorus girl's romance
Come touch me soon
Form of my form, loom of the moon
by James Joyce, from Ulysses