Chamber Music, by James Joyce

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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.


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