Explore "Ophelia" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
CALM dost thou lie in wave-swept resting-place.
No more the glances of the haughty Dane / Can fill thy gentle breast with longing vain.
The waves that stilled thy heart have drowned thy pain, / And washed the sorrow from thy sweet, pale face, / Ophelia.
Thine be the violets, but his the rue.
Though hope should sleep, and deep regret should wake, / Thy clasped hand from Death's he could not take; / The spell on those mute lips he could not break.
What more with life and love hast thou to do, / Ophelia?