I met the dear Ophelia
Upon the western stair
Through some columns of transport
Into the wild air.

The whipping wind blew thru her hair
While her eyes were infused with joy
But like a flower withering
Her heart did black employ.

“Save me from that death!” she screamed.
“The forlorn death of a lover,
For upon the wakening of the sun
Flies forth, that plumed plover.”

“My heart soars away,
My lover in madness wrought.
Forever gone from my bosom.
To fall, to die, I ought.”

I opened my mouth to comfort her
But not a sound progressed.
And with the rising of a sun,
Her protests did arrest.

And with a scream of agony,
She disappeared and was gone.
And her cry was not of pain,
But because the madness of one so fond.

I saw the girl Ophelia,
Upon the western stair.
Her lovely face was happy ever,
But only with sweet Hamlet there.