The Indian Serenade
de Percy Bisshe Shelley(2005)
1 min lectură
Mediu
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 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 again,
Where it will break at last!