Happy First Day of the Writing, 2018

    Poor Isa sits a glooming so gleaming in the gloaming; the tin- 

celles a touch tarnished wind no lovelinoise awound her swan's.

Hey, lass! Woefear gleam she so glooming, this pooripathete I

solde? Her beauman's gone of a cool. Be good enough to symper-

ise. If he's at anywhere she's therefor to join him. If it's to no-

where she's going to too. Buf if he'll go to be a son to France's

she'll stay daughter of Clare. Bring tansy, throw myrtle, strew

rue, rue, rue. She is fading out like Journee's clothes so you can't

see her now. Still we know how Day the Dyer works, in dims

and deeps and dusks and darks. And among the shades that Eve's

now wearing she'll meet anew fiancy, tryst and trow. Mammy

was, Mimmy is, Minuscoline's to be. In the Dee dips a dame and

the dame desires a demselle but the demselle dresses dolly and

the dolly does a dulcydamble. The same renew. For though

she's unmerried she'll after truss up and help that hussyband how

to hop. Hip it and trip it and chirrub and sing. Lord Chuffy's sky  

sheraph and Glugg's got to swing.

    So and so, toe by toe, to and fro they go round, for they are the   

ingelles, scattering nods as girls who may, for they are an angel's  

garland.

--Finnegans Wake