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Music, when soft voices die
a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Shelley Percy Bysshe - Poem

 

 

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.


Music, when soft voices die - a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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