--Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?
 Then he said to Haines:
 --The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.
 --All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey
 trickle over a slice of the loaf.
 Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the
 loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:
 --I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.
 Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit.
 Conscience. Yet here's a spot.
 --That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol
 of Irish art is deuced good.
 Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth
 of tone:
 --Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.
 --Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just
 thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.
 --Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked.
 Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of the
 hammock, said:
 --I don't know, I'm sure.
self-taught expressionist outsider artist neuve-invention
Love's Old Sweet Song
J. Clifton Bingham
Once in the dear, dead days beyond recall,
When on the world the mists began to fall,
Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,
Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song,
And in the dusk where fell the firelight gleam,
Softly it wove itself into our dream.
Even today we hear love's song of yore,
Deep in our hearts it swells forever-more.
Footsteps may falter, weary grow the way;
Still we can hear it at the close of day.
So 'til the end, when life's dim shadows fall,
Love will be found the sweetest song of all.
Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low;
And the flick'ring shadows softly come and go.
Tho' the heart be weary, sad the day and long,
Still to us at twilight comes love's old song,
Comes love's old sweet song.
Melody - James L. Molloy, 1884
"Love's old sweet song"
Source: Listen - The Virtual Gramophone