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!