PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

�� ��I

��6 n. The Indian Serenade

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

And the Champak's odours [pine] Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart,

As I must on thine,

beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!

1 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: O press it to thine own again,

Where it will break at last!

��612. Night

'WIFTLY walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night !

Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight,

�� �