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Saturday, January 22, 2005
Music, When Soft Voices Die
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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.
posted by gbarto at 11:35 PM
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