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 belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley

<b>Music, When Soft Voices Die</b><br /><br />Music, when soft voices die, <br />Vibrates in the memory; <br />Odours, when sweet violets sicken, <br />Live within the sense they quicken. <br /> <br />Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, <br />Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; <br />And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, <br />Love itself shall slumber on. - Percy Bysshe Shelley

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