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 odors 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!
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 close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.
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