Ophelia

by elementik - dA
by PrincessOfShadows - dA

by Supermalade - dA

by Queen_Kitty - dA

by marahernandez - dA

One woe doth tread anothers heel,

So fast they follow; your sisters drowned Laertes.

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;

There with fantastic garlands did she come

Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples

That liberal shepards give a grosser name,

But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;

When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid like, a while they bore her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

-Hamlet - 'Gertrude'

William Shakespeare