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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Republished by Blog Post Promoter
Sponsored Ads do not necessarily reflect the views of PoetryGrrrl
