To (1)

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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.

Next 10 Poems

• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To (2)
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To A Lady, With A Guitar
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To A Skylark
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To Coleridge
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To Jane
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To Night
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To The Men Of England
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To The Moon
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : To Wordsworth
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : When The Lamp Is Shattered

Previous 10 Poems

• Percy Bysshe Shelley : Time Long Past
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : Time
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Witch Of Atlas
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Waning Moon
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Two Spirits: An Allegory
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Triumph Of Life
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Question
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Invitation
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Indian Serenade
• Percy Bysshe Shelley : The Fitful Alternations Of The Rain