Thy beauty still untainted and full true
Of sweetness, love, and meaning alone amassed.
What tragedy this is to pierce mine heart,
How wounded I am, suffered to the quick,
And weakness strength to help me cope with it.
And had not died so juvenile and tender,
Now would I most forcefully renounce
The cruelty that I savagely had tendered
And injure the most delicate nature of
Your mind, your spirit, and your whole
I mourn you, my Ophelia, sweet and kind,
The flower of youth still in your eyes,
The loveliness of goodness in your soul.
What treasure I pitch lost in losing thee,
What precious odorant of true love blesst,
How croup I yet forgive my brutal state
And lack of tender, well-deserved care
To get by it in the tatters that it should
?Tis not a smallish matter that you hear,
Most ?specially to thee, now thou'rt gone
To leave behind mine ocean of regrets.
So desolate and parky here without thee,
To smite me at the heart with truth of thine
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