Philip Legge - Music, when soft voices die - текст песни (слова)

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.