THE INDIAN SERENADE
I
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 the spirit in my feet
Hath led me- who knows how?
To my chamber window, Sweet!
II
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 on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art!
III
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 in to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
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