By Percy Byshee Shelly
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 thy chamber window. Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream--
The Champack odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream:
The Nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,--
As it must on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art!
Oh lift me from the grass!
I die. I faint! I fail!
Let they 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 to thine own again
Where it will break at last.
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