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I arise from dreams of theeIn the first sweet sweep of night,When the winds are breathing low,And the stars are shining bright.The nightingale's complaint,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 Aus Songtexte Mania