Lines to an Indian Air

    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 odours¹ fail

    Like sweet thoughts in a dream；

    The nightingale's complaint

    It dies upon her heart

    As I must die on thine

    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 eyelids² pale.

    My cheek is cold and #CCCCFF alas³！

    My heart beats loud and fast；

    O press it close to thine again

    Where it will break at last！