Quotation from: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Written by: James Joyce


Are you not weary of ardent ways,
Lure of the fallen seraphim?
Tell no more of enchanted days.


The verses passed from his mind to his lips and, murmuring them over,
he felt the rhythmic movement of a villanelle pass through them. The
rose-like glow sent forth its rays of rhyme; ways, days, blaze, praise,
raise. Its rays burned up the world, consumed the hearts of men and
angels: the rays from the rose that was her wilful heart.

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