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27 Jul: "Music, When Soft Voices Die" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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 heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

3 comments:

  1. 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.

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  2. The 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.

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