O, fair Ophelia, how grieved and heartsore I remain E'er thine retreat to yonder heavn's gate
So young, so fair, and sweetly innocent,
Thy flaxen hair, thy heart so gravely pure.
Knowing how I vexed thee to the heart,
Caring more than I had grace to show
And ravaging thy inner soul's delight?
ęTwas sweet to know thee in thy bed,
To taste th' delights of maidenly reward,
And always from now on I shall still know
The passion that I saw within thine heart.
Were't e'en the harshest death on earth;
The tremulousness of thy dear voice,
And all the flowers about thee in the field.
I scorned to hear the story of someone's grief
Who mourned for Troy's great queen, called Hecuba
What pain could anyone feel for her, I asked,
What meaning was there in her death?
I could not fathom, through all the tears,
Thy gentle presence from this earth.