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
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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