Bleak is your tragedy...
Ophelia
My darling rose of May
Drowning in water cage
Cruel misery
Is this inhuman jail
The curse of a broken heart
Nay!
Never trade your noble heart
Hear the beat behind the wounds
Trembling like a volcano
Raised from the silence stream
Makes heaven face to glow .
But...
And it's strange
How the feeling goes;
All change -
Down the river Ophelia goes.

I am just a stranger
Who come too late
And even so unprepared
To find the cupboard so bare.
But when her song raised from despair:-

As William or an other wrote:-
“There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray,
love, remember: and there is pansies. that's for thoughts
There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue
for you; and here's some for me: we may call it
herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with
a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you
some violets, but they withered all when my father
died: they say he made a good end“…
And it's strange...
Down the river Ophelia goes
And I feel that life treachery
Has tear her limb from limb
So I importuned her
With honourable fashion
And give countenance to my speech,
With almost all the holy words of heaven.

Jean-Raoul de Marcenac