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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