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 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.

(James Joyce, Chamber Music 22)