The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
“The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow
The trees of the avenue.
The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.
Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands
That wander as they list —
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst.”
James Joyce | Chamber Music