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.
