Music, when soft voices die, <br />Vibrates in the memory - <br />Odours, when sweet violets sicken, <br />Live within the sense they quicken. <br /> <br />Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, <br />Are heaped for the beloved's bed; <br />And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, <br />Love itself shall slumber on.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-when-soft-voices-die-2/
