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 Has led me — who knows how? — To thy chamber-window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream, — The champak odors fall Like sweet thoughts in a dream,
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
O, lift me from the grass!
I die,
I faint,
I fall!
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!
