To ——. 'Music, when soft voices die'
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
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 beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.