Twilight.... by James Joyce

The twilight turns from amethyst

To deep and deeper blue,

The lamp fills with a pale green glow

The trees of the avenue.

 

The old piano plays an air,

Sedate and slow and gay;

She bends upon the yellow keys,

Her head inclines this way.

 

Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands

That wander as they list—

The twilight turns to darker blue

With lights of amethyst.

 

 

Done