“Gold” struck me at first because of its frequent use as both a noun and an adjective, and the way those usages seemed to work off one another. As a noun, it’s synonymous with money and wealth; i.e., Dedalus goes to Deasy’s “strongroom for the gold” (29), where he’s lectured (very pompously) on the value of saving money. Likewise it’s used for lyrical, almost pastoral descriptions of the sea and surroundings: the “gold light on the sea” complements the “slender trees” and “lemon houses” Dedalus walks by (42); he thinks of “a girl with gold hair on the wind” (61), “tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry” (42), and “Danevikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold” (45). In each mention, gold’s associated with opulence—the decadence of gold teeth and pastry—or loot, like Deasy’s strongroom or the Danevikings’ plunder. Death seems to float around some of these allusions (gold teeth are false, for example) in an indirect and very creepy way. “It’s all the same,” Bloom thinks on the way to the funeral. “Palbearers, gold reins…pomp of death” (100). The use of the word ‘gold’ seems to gild the concept of death and decay (I’m comparing the descriptions with ‘gold’ to the descriptions with ‘green’, which are a whole lot less lyrical). But the effect is one that heightens rather than eases the narrative’s descriptions of death. “Poetical idea pink, then golden, then grey, then black…Day, then the night,” thinks Bloom (69). Even the idealized “greengoldenly lagoons” Dedalus notices on his walk are therefore indicative of the idealization of decay and sickness that pervades his conception of Ireland.