Sunday, January 22, 2006

Ophelia by Hughes


And there, at the water's edge
I stood useless.
While you, oblivious,
Drifting through spires of reeds and rushes
And sepulchral purple iris,
No longer of this world.
Your face so lily pale
Your eyes so sweetly closed
With trailing wild forget-me-nots
Like blue stars glistening
In your flowing midnight curls,
Yes. There at the water's brink
I stood . Helpless.
While you, dreamless,
On dew-drenched grasses were tenderly laid
In your mud-soaked bridal gown.
Your spirit flown.
And there was no man,
Who, that day looking on,
Would not willingly for your love
Have given heart and home. And I
Not least for one.

© 2000 Jules


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