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Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Indian Serenade
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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 odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The Nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart;--
As I must on thine,
Oh, 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:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last! |
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