The Indian Serenade
I arise from dreams of theeIn 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 feetHath led me--who knows how?To thy chamber window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faintOn the dark, the silent stream--The Champak odours failLike sweet thoughts in a dream;The nightingale's complaint,It dies upon her heart;--As I must on thine,Oh, beloved as thou art!
Oh lift me from the grass!I die! I faint! I fail!Let thy love in kisses rainOn my lips and eyelids pale.My cheek is cold and white, alas!My heart beats loud and fast;--Oh! press it to thine own again,Where it will break at last.
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