Under a willow Ophelia sleeps,
cradled in its green sleeves.
Her tears, flowed for all,
float still in the water who called,
"Softly shed ever.
Warmly wiped never."
A lonesome soul,
with a coloring bud for a heart.
Singing afar is the echo of howls
of a wind never heard.
"Weep you no more.
Care not his honor."
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