One time you’d stand fornenst me, fairly laughing, in your bark and tan billows of I branches for to fan me coolly. And I’d lie as quiet as a moss. And one time you’d rush upon me, darkly roaring, like a great black | shadow with a sheeny stare to perce me rawly. And I’d frozen up and pray for thawe.
Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce (episode17)
No comments:
Post a Comment