by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822)

Music, when soft voices die
Language: English 
Our translations:  FRE GER GER
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 belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 8
Word count: 47