THE JAMES JOYCE COLLECTION - 5 Books in One Edition. James Joyce

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      Sweet love, away.

XXI

      He who hath glory lost, nor hath Found any soul to fellow his, Among his foes in scorn and wrath Holding to ancient nobleness, That high unconsortable one— His love is his companion.

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

XXIII

      This heart that flutters near my heart My hope and all my riches is, Unhappy when we draw apart

      And happy between kiss and kiss: My hope and all my riches—yes!— And all my happiness.

      For there, as in some mossy nest The wrens will divers treasures keep, I laid those treasures I possessed Ere that mine eyes had learned to weep.

      Shall we not be as wise as they

      Though love live but a day?

XXIV

      Silently she’s combing,

      Combing her long hair Silently and graciously,

      With many a pretty air.

      The sun is in the willow leaves

      And on the dapplled grass, And still she’s combing her long hair Before the looking-glass.

      I pray you, cease to comb out,

      Comb out your long hair, For I have heard of witchery

      Under a pretty air,

      That makes as one thing to the lover Staying and going hence, All fair, with many a pretty air And many a negligence.

XXV

      Lightly come or lightly go:

      Though thy heart presage thee woe, Vales and many a wasted sun,

      Oread let thy laughter run, Till the irreverent mountain air Ripple all thy flying hair.

      Lightly, lightly—ever so:

      Clouds that wrap the vales below At the hour of evenstar

      Lowliest attendants are; Love and laughter song-confessed When the heart is heaviest.

XXVI

      Thou leanest to the shell of night, Dear lady, a divining ear.

      In that soft choiring of delight What sound hath made thy heart to fear?

      Seemed it of rivers rushing forth From the grey deserts of the north?

      That mood of thine

      Is his, if thou but scan it well, Who a mad tale bequeaths to us

      At ghosting hour conjurable— And all for some strange name he read In Purchas or in Holinshed.

XXVII

      Though I thy Mithridates were,

      Framed to defy the poison-dart, Yet must thou fold me unaware

      To know the rapture of thy heart, And I but render and confess

      The malice of thy tenderness.

      For elegant and antique phrase,

      Dearest, my lips wax all too wise; Nor have I known a love whose praise Our piping poets solemnize, Neither a love where may not be

      Ever so little falsity.

XXVIII

      Gentle lady, do not sing

      Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing

      How love that passes is enough.

      Sing about the long deep sleep

      Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.

XXIX

      Dear heart, why will you use me so?

      Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, Still are you beautiful—but O,

      How is your beauty raimented!

      Through the clear mirror of your eyes, Through the soft sigh of kiss to kiss, Desolate winds assail with cries The shadowy garden where love is.

      And soon shall love dissolved be When over us the wild winds blow— But you, dear love, too dear to me, Alas! why will you use me so?

XXX

      Love came to us in time gone by

      When one at twilight shyly played And one in fear was standing nigh— For Love at first is all afraid.

      We were grave lovers. Love is past That had his sweet hours many a one; Welcome to us now at the last

      The ways that we shall go upon.

XXXI

      O, it was out by Donnycarney

      When the bat flew from tree to tree My love and I did walk together; And sweet were the words she said to me.

      Along with us the summer wind

      Went murmuring—O, happily!— But softer than the breath of summer Was the kiss she gave to me.

XXXII

      Rain has fallen all the day.

      O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories.

      Staying a little by the way

      Of memories shall we depart.

      Come, my beloved, where I may

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