I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet Has led me -who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream –
The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O beloved as thou art!
Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
Oh, press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last! ~
The Indian Serenade – Percy Bysshe
