I did not write this, and yet, I wish I did.
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 belovèd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
– Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1821.
Click the picture above, and remember, in the immortal words of the inimitable words of Nick Cave – “I’m not down here for your money, I’m down here for your love. I’m not down here for your love or money, I’m down here for you soul.”
N.
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