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.

625   Music, when Soft Voices die

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 belovàd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.