whatdoyoucallthem

Updated: June 3, 2025

The door of the bar. So. That will do. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting to hear, for he was hard of hear by the door. Sorrow from me seemed to depart. Through the hush of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leaves in murmur, like no voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, still hearts of their each his remembered lives.

James Joyce - Ulysses