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| Ophelia by Odilon Redon |
In Death she makes a lovely bride
A face as gentle as a child
Her brazen eyes no longer wild
In spirit always by my side
Although I weep, I'm yet beguiled
Her magic she does still retain
In Death her beauty does not wane
but now my jealousy grows mild
For Love she can no longer feign
Her lying heart has stopped its beat
She now lies free of guile, deceit
The perfidy that was her bane
In Death, how chaste, how true, demure
She is an angel, perfect, pure.
