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

HAS LED ME-WHO KNOW WHY?

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 DIE ON THINE,

O 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!

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