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[thedenimpsycho]

"Some things are better left incomplete "

_Aa-yt

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[19ril]

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, 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 odours 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 eyelids pale.   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!