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.
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Nice rhyme, pace, and structure. Otherwise just another sad story about losing love. Maybe it has been too long sense I felt heart break, I'm a bit insensitive to the narrator's loss.
ReplyDeleteThe verbiage he speaks of moves...it does not quite feel like the slumber he describes in the last line. It is sad...yet it is still alive and a very part of who we are. The soft voice, the touches, the whispers, the thoughts....they remain even as we "move on"....it is loss, and yet, not loss. A past lover is part of who we are.
ReplyDeleteGood call with the sensual words,
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