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.