To — (Shelley, 2)
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 beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
|This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.|