:: fw

"Night by silentsailing night while infantina Isobel (who will be blushing all day to be, when she growned up one Sunday, Saint Holy and Saint Ivory, when she took the veil, the beautiful presentation nun, so barely 20, in her pure coif, sister Isobel, and next Sunday, mistlemas, when she wore a wreath, the wonderful widow of 18 springs, Madame Isa Veuve La Belle, so sad but lucksome in her boyblue's long black with orange blossoming weeper's veil) for she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart, sleeping in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candy whistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood's eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of mass and daphnedews, how all so still she lay, neath the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled, as fain would she anon, for soon again 'twill be, win me, woo me, wed me, and weary me!, deeply now evencalm lay sleeping."

Finnegans Wake, James Joyce