The Indian Serenade

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
Hath led me — who knows how?
To the chamber window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream—
The chainpak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream
The nightingale's complaint
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
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.

Percy Bysshe Shelley.