[Now, O now, in this brown land]

Now, O now, in this brown land
  Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
  Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
  Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
  The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
  The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
  We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.

[Now, O now, in this brown land]

by James Joyce, 1907