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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 odours 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!
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
again,
Where it will break at last!
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