Many thanks to Derek (_m8) who added the song...
... well, now Shelley's little poem is an alternative to the image!
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.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley