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Tilly
(2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941 / Dublin / Ireland)

Tilly

Poem By James Joyce

He travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they know,
He drives his beasts above Cabra.

The voice tells them home is warm.
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.
He drives them with a flowering branch before him,
Smoke pluming their foreheads.

Boor, bond of the herd,
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!

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Comments (1)

I believe that Tilly was his mother - or a cow. One of the two.


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