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 mewho knows how？
To thy chamber1 window， Sweet！
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark， the silent stream
And the Champaks odours2
Like sweet thoughts in a dream；
The nightingales complaint，
It dies upon her heart，
As I must on thine，
O belovd 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 eyelids3 pale.
My cheek is cold and white， alas4！
My heart beats loud and fast：
O press it to thine own again，
Where it will break at last！
