Downstream Rosemary

Ophelia! Ophelia! The blooming maiden at rest
with her hands clutching rosemary to her burdened breast,
guided down this babbling brook, both gentle and strong,
with Undine eddies to sooth and usher her along
beyond the whitewater past, awash in the heart
afield of a dead father, lost lover, brother apart.
Let those figures in the rocky froth fight fierce no more
for she knows now the peace which neither nun nor whore
may find in Heaven, nor in Hell, however it please them
while men pull hither and thither, by hair, sleeve and hem.
Whether by method or madness, whichever Man may bring,
this girl lays in a sweet silence, or else she must sing
the songs of Lost Love and the songs of her Sorrow,
down the brook you go! Nevermore rue tomorrow…

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