Thursday, September 6, 2012

Music, When Soft Voices Die By Percy Bysshe Shelley


Image credit: google.com





Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken!
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Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved bed,
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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