PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth ; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come,

And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around

thine head, The blooms of dewy Spring shall gleam beneath thy

feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that

binds the dead,

Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may meet.

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the

deep;

Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves or toils or grieves hath its appointed

sleep.

Thou in the grave shalt rest : yet, till the phantoms flee, Which that house and heath and garden made dear to

thee erewhile, Thy remembrance and repentance and deep musings are

not free

From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile.

��618. Music, when Soft Voices die

��M

��US 1C, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.

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