englishverse.com
AccueilPoètesPoèmesLivres
 

Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Indian Serenade

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
Hath led me—who knows how?
    To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
    On the dark, the silent stream—
And the champak's odours [pine]
    Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
    It dies upon her heart,
As I must on thine,
    O beloved as thou art!

O 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:
O press it to thine own again,
    Where it will break at last!

 
Sur le poète
Percy Bysshe Shelley
 
Du même poète
Ozymandias
Music, when Soft Voices die
Hymn of Pan
The Invitation
Hellas
To a Skylark
The Moon
Ode to the West Wind
Night
From the Arabic: An Imitation
Lines
To ——
The Question
Remorse
 
Livres apparentés
Percy Bysshe Shelley sur amazon.com


Accueil  .  Poètes  .  Poèmes  .  Livres  .  Vos préférences  .  Contact

English  .  Français

© 2003-2006 Waverley Internet Design. Tous droits réservés.