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Music When Soft Voices Die

a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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 heaped for the belovèd's bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on.