Saturday, December 20, 2008

Music, when soft voices die (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Shelley fascinates me. I love his Ozymandias and this too is brilliant... though quite a contrast to it. In Ozymandias we see the death of human achievement - nothing lasts. Here there is some echo, there are fingerprints...

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 belov├Ęd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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