by James Joyce (1882 - 1941)

Of thy dark life, without a love,...
Language: English 
Of thy dark life, without a love, without a friend,
   Here is, indeed, an end.
There are no lips to kiss this foul remains of thee,
   O, dead Unchastity!
The curse of loneliness broods silent on thee still,
   Doing its utmost will,
And men shall cast thee justly to thy narrow tomb,
   A sad and bitter doom.

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Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Peter Schoene

This text was added to the website: 2012-05-23
Line count: 8
Word count: 57