C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Indian Serenade
By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)
I
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!
On the dark, the silent stream—
And the Champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint,
It dies upon her heart—
As I must on thine,
O belovèd as thou art!
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 to thine own again,
Where it will break at last!