Pain/Pleasure Principle

Cleaning out my old "love e-mails" folder, I came across the third stanza of this poem that I sent to a passion past. I was struck by two things:

1. How miserably wrong I was about that love...
2. How poignant still this poem is and I will use it again - perhaps more wisely and with better results.


Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792–1822

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 feetHath led me -- who knows how? --
To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream --
The champak odors 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!

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;--
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.