I arise from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sweep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 
And the stars are shining bright. 

The [bad word]  
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must die on thine, 
O, beloved as thou art! 

My cheek is cold and white, alas! 
My heart beats loud and fast: 
Oh! press it close to thine again, 
Where it will break at last