Читать книгу THE JAMES JOYCE COLLECTION - 5 Books in One Edition - James Joyce, James Joyce - Страница 25

Of that so sweet imprisonment

My soul, dearest, is fain— Soft arms that woo me to relent

And woo me to detain.

Ah, could they ever hold me there Gladly were I a prisoner!

Dearest, through interwoven arms By love made tremulous, That night allures me where alarms Nowise may trouble us; But sleep to dreamier sleep be wed Where soul with soul lies prisoned.