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Music, When Soft Voices Die
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory --
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts when thou are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
        
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Poem ID: 371   Poem Posted: 11/21/1997
Viewed: 132459  Voted On: 1453  E-mailed: 431  Commented On: 10
 
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