Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
P. B. Shelley
CLXXII. Lines to an Indian Air
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,         5
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;  10
The champak odours fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream; 
The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must die on thine,  15
O belovèd, as thou art! 
O lift me from the grass! 
I die, I faint, I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale.  20
My cheek is cold and white, alas! 
My heart beats loud and fast; 
O press it close to thine again 
Where it will break at last! 

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