THE INDIAN SERENADE

by: Percy Bysshe Shelly (1792-1822)

      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--
      And the Champak's odours [pine]
      Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
      The nightingale's complaint,
      It dies upon her heart,
      As I must on thine,
      O belovèd 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 to thine own again,
      Where it will break at last!

MORE POEMS BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

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