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, heaped for the beloved'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, heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone
Love itself shall slumber on
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