Music, when sofi 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.
Music, when sofi 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.
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