Chamber Music, by James Joyce

Previous   Contents   Next

XVIII

O Sweetheart, hear you Your lover’s tale; A man shall have sorrow When friends him fail.

For he shall know then
Friends be untrue
And a little ashes
Their words come to.

But one unto him
Will softly move
And softly woo him
In ways of love.

His hand is under
Her smooth round breast;
So he who has sorrow
Shall have rest.


Previous   Contents   Next