While mad Ophelia we lament, And Her distraction mourn, Our grief's misplac'd, Our tears misspent, Since what for Her condition's meant, More justly fits Our Own. For if 'tis happiness to be, From all the turns of Fate, From dubious Joy, and sorrow free; Ophelia then is blest, and we Misunderstand Her state. The Fates may do whate'er they will, They can't disturb her mind, Insensible of good or ill, Ophelia is Ophelia still Be Fortune cross or kind. Then make with reason no more noise, Since what should give relief, The quiet of Our mind destroys, Or with a full spring-tide of joys, Or a dead-ebb of grief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JUDGE NOT by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE PLEASED CAPTIVE; A SONG by PHILIP AYRES WALKEN HWOME AT NIGHT by WILLIAM BARNES A THRESHER OF WHEAT TO THE WYNDES by JOACHIM DU BELLAY PARABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY MEMORY OF THE FAIREST AND MOST VIRTUOUS LADY by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |