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The Indian Serenade
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I arise from dreams of thee 
  In the first sweet sleep or 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 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 own again, 
  Where it will break at last!
        
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Poem ID: 2815   Poem Posted: 5/1/1998
Viewed: 233227  Voted On: 2571  E-mailed: 1695  Commented On: 17
 
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