Music, when soft voices die, / Vibrates in the memory—
The eight-line lyric goes on to say that rose leaves are heaped for the beloved’s bed after the rose is dead, and that thoughts of the beloved will let love itself “slumber on” once she is gone. It appeared in Posthumous Poems in 1824, two years after Shelley’s death.
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! / Bird thou never wert,
O Wind, / If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: / Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.
All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players;