Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote his poetry in the early 1800s. He died at age 30 when his yacht sunk in the mediterranean.

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates int he memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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