Haikus from Ulysses by James Joyce

About the book:

O, I shall expire!
Break the news to her gently,
Aubrey! I shall die!

--It is indeed, ma'am,
Buck Mulligan said, pouring
milk into their cups.

Write down all I said
And tell Tom, Dick and Harry
I rose from the dead.

Hockey at ten, sir.
--Half day, sir. Thursday. --Who can
answer a riddle?

After he woke me
last night same dream or was it?
Wait. Open hallway.

Who watches me here?
Who ever anywhere will
read these written words?

Yes, evening will find
itself in me, without me.
All days make their end.

Eleven, is it?
I only heard it last night.
Who was telling me?

Eye out for other
fellow always. Good fallback.
Two strings to her bow.

I'm glad I didn't
go into the room to look
at his face. That day!

The priest went along
by them, murmuring, holding
the thing in his hands.

Could hear a pin drop.
I told her to pitch her voice
against that corner.

Mr Bloom reviewed
the nails of his left hand, then
those of his right hand.

I suppose the skin
can't contract quickly enough
when the flesh falls off.

Much better to close
up all the orifices.
Yes, also. With wax.

Mr Bloom came last
folding his paper again
into his pocket.

So he was before
he got the job in the morgue
under Louis Byrne.

the professor said,
skipping to get into step.
Crawford will follow.

Sheet of her music
blew out of my hand against
the High school railings.

I called you naughty
darling because I do not
like that other world.

Piled up in cities,
worn away age after age.
Pyramids in sand.

He studded under
each lifted strip yellow blobs.
_Their lives_. I have it.

--Tell us if you're worth
your salt and be damned to you,
Paddy Leonard said.

Clear. Behind a bull:
in front of a horse. --Thanks, sir.
Knows I'm a man. Voice.

_Orchestral Satan,
weeping many a rood Tears
such as angels weep.

They advertised it.
His free hand graciously wrote
tiny signs in air.

I am in his son.
--That mole is the last to go,
Stephen said, laughing.

If Socrates leave
his house today, if Judas
go forth tonight. Why?

Father Cowley brushed
his moustache often downward
with a scooping hand.

--Yes, Mulligan said.
That's John Howard, his brother,
our city marshal.

How sweet the answer.
How is that done? All lost now.
Mournful he whistled.

Last look at mirror
always before she answers
the door. The hall. There?

They sing. Forgotten.
I too; And one day she with.
Leave her: get tired.

And by the door deaf
Pat, bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened.
The chords harped slower.

Doesn't half know I'm.
Molly great dab at seeing
anyone looking.

Milly young student.
Well, my fault perhaps. No son.
Rudy. Too late now.

Well, my fault perhaps.
No son. Rudy. Too late now.
Or if not? If not?

Rudy. Too late now.
Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate. Hate.

General chorus off
for a swill to wash it down.
Glad I avoided.

Face like dip. Damn her.
O, well, she has to live like
the rest. Look in here.

--True men like you men.
--Ay, ay, Ben. --Will lift your glass
with us. They lifted.

Nor Ben nor Bob nor
Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks
nor Richie nor Pat.

--Ay, says Joe. He paid
the debt of nature, God be
merciful to him.

John M. Ivers, P.
P.; the rev. P. J. Cleary,
O. S. F.; the rev.

James Murphy, S. J.;
the rev. John Lavery, V.
F.; the very rev.

No music and no
art and no literature
worthy of the name.

And the rest nowhere.
--And Bass's mare? says Terry.
--Still running, says he.

Take that in your right
hand and repeat after me
the following words.

Or so they allege.
--Who made those allegations?
says Alf. --I, says Joe.

We must be quick. J.
J. and S. --You, Jack? Crofton?
Three half ones, Terry.

--He had no father,
says Martin. That'll do now.
Drive ahead. --Whose God?

Yours for the asking.
Because they want it themselves.
Their natural craving.

Do they snapshot those
girls or is it all a fake?
_Lingerie_ does it.

Bad plan however
if you don't know how to end
the conversation.

Will she? Watch! Watch! See!
Looked round. She smelt an onion.
Darling, I saw, your.

And far on Kish bank
the anchored lightship twinkled,
winked at Mr Bloom.

No soul will live there.
The spider pitches her web
in the solitude.

Back! It must not be!
In terror the poor girl flees
away through the murk.

A pigmy woman
swings on a rope slung between
two railings, counting.

Something poisonous
I ate. Emblem of luck. Why?
Probably lost cattle.

Don't give me away.
Walls have ears. How do you do?
It's ages since I.

Love entanglement.
_(He shoulders the second watch
gently)_ Dash it all.

_(To the second watch
gaily)_ I'll introduce you,
inspector. She's game.

_(Raises the royal standard)_
Illustrious Bloom!

The keys of Dublin,
crossed on a crimson cushion,
are given to him.

Free money, free rent,
free love and a free lay church
in a free lay state.

_(bloom explains to those
near him his schemes for social

sorrow for the dead, music,
future of the race.

Love me not. Love me. ZOE:
Silent means consent.

Some, to example,
there are again whose movements
are automatic.

Fit for a prince's.
Liver and kidney. THE FAN:
_(Tapping)_ All things end.

_(Bloom, broken, closely
veiled for the sacrifice, sobs,
his face to the earth.

Broke them yesterday.
Sixteen years ago. Distance.
The eye sees all flat.

)_ HOURS: You may touch my.
CAVALIERS: May I touch your?
HOURS: O, but lightly!

He averts his face.
Bella from within the hall
urges on her whores.

_(He taps his brow)_ But
in here it is I must kill
the priest and the king.

Edward the Seventh
lifts his bucket graciously
in acknowledgment.

Who now exactly
gave them he wondered or where
was or did he buy.

He could spin those yarns
for hours on end all night long
and lie like old boots.

For what personal
purpose could Bloom have applied
the water so boiled?

What qualifying
considerations allayed
his perturbations?