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
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