Author James Joyce The moon's soft golden meshes make All night a veil; The shore-lamps in the sleeping lake Laburnum tendrils trail. The sly reeds whisper in the night A name ā her name; And all my soul is a delight, A swoon of shame. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments