fuckyeahpreraphaelites:

Ophelia (And He Will Not Come Again)Arthur Hughes1871 

fuckyeahpreraphaelites:

Ophelia (And He Will Not Come Again)
Arthur Hughes
1871 

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There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb’ring 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, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
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,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Scene VII: 180-195.

(via caveofhypnos)
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ponderful:

Ophelia Drowning by Paul Albert Steck. 1895. Oil on canvas.

ponderful:

Ophelia Drowning by Paul Albert Steck. 1895. Oil on canvas.

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ponderful:

Ophelia by John William Waterhouse. 1889.

ponderful:

Ophelia by John William Waterhouse. 1889.

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