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 on thine, Oh, 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;-- Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last.