|
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, When Soft
Voices Die
|
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.
|
more by this author
| |
|