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— 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 beloved 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!