Published: 12 Oct 2018 › Updated: 12 Oct 2018
Percy bysshe shelley
Music ,when soft voices die ,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours,when sweet Violet's sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves,when the Rose is dead ,
Are headed for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts,when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
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