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!