The Indian Serenade
arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep or 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 odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart-
As I must die on thine,
Oh, 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 own again,
Where it will break at last!
Read more about Percy
Bysshe Shelley at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
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