Friday, September 16, 2005

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 are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley

3 Comments:

Blogger Cait said...

Yes - but does it love a sunburnt country??

5:48 pm  
Blogger Rani-Banani said...

ICK! dont ruin the poem!! its a good poem for gods sake,dont wreck it!

11:32 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

ha ha..not the sunburnt counrty poem...noooooooooo.......n isnt that poem from ur lit book..lol..cyas

1:27 am  

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