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.
I found this poem when I was going through some others for my final tomorrow, and I dont really know why but something in it really caught me..So im putting it up here..lemme me know if it makes you want to re-read it too...:)
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