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2019
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1 Entry
Mona stewart
December 14, 2019
Music, when soft voices die
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.
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Poetry Foundation
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