He who hath glory lost, nor hath
Found any soul to fellow his,
Among his foes in scorn and wrath
Holding to ancient nobleness,
That high unconsortable one ---
His love is his companion.
More verses by James Joyce
- Lightly Come Or Lightly Go
- Bright Cap And Streamers
- In The Dark Pine-Wood
- A Memory Of The Players In A Mirror At Midnight
- I Would In That Sweet Bosom Be
