519. Music, When Soft Voices Die

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792—1822)

  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 art gone,

  Love itself shall slumber on.