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 beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 -1822)
taken from Love Poems, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets
my favourite card at the moment – i go through phases and use different ones, but there is something melancholic, but beautiful about this peony.