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 art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
 – Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)