poetry | prints | cine | home

Percy Bysshe Shelley - 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 thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs, they faint
   On the dark, the silent stream;
The champak odors fail
   Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
   It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
   Oh, 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!