Paroles de Arise From Dreams Of Thee

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sweep of night When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining Are shining bright Nightingale's complaint Dies upon her heart I must die on thine O, beloved as thou art Nightingale's complaint Dies upon her heart I must die on thine O, beloved as thou art Cheek is cold and white, alas My heart beats loud and fast Press it close to thine again Where it break at last Where it will break at last