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Ophelia

My locks are shorn for sorrow
Of love which may not be;
Tomorrow and tomorrow
Are plotting cruelty.

The winter wind tangles
These ringlets half-grown,
The sun sprays with spangles
And rays like his own.

Oh, quieter and colder
Is the stream; he will wait;
When my curls touch my shoulder
He will comb them straight.

Elinor Morton Wylie

Read poems about / on: winter, sorrow, wind, sun, love

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12/3/2008 2:55:00 PM. You Are Here: Ophelia by Elinor Morton Wylie