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 |
|
|
| Reader Comments |
|---|
| Not bad at all fella |
|---|
| Name: Aline | 2014-05-22 |
| Not bad at all fellas and galsla. Thanks. |
|
|
|
|
|
