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
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
posted by Toastghost at
5:03 pm
3 Comments:
Yes - but does it love a sunburnt country??
ICK! dont ruin the poem!! its a good poem for gods sake,dont wreck it!
ha ha..not the sunburnt counrty poem...noooooooooo.......n isnt that poem from ur lit book..lol..cyas
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