Poetry Archives

A continuing selection of classic and contemporary poems.

James Joyce

XXII

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 lseep to dreamier sleep be wed
Where soul with soul lies prisoned.

Online text © 1998-2008 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From Chamber Music | 1907

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