The Indian Serenade

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 on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art!…