I translated my Ophelia poem.
Ophelia
She floats on the waters, ashen and unearthly,
Like a sweet Ophelia by her lost love broken.
A smile resting on lips so pearly they glisten,
And her damp silky hair, as black as a raven,
Remain sole witnesses of her sunken beauty.– Why did she part this world? Which fate could thus decide?
The canvas begets thoughts the artist cannot shush.
– Might King Hamlet himself have guided my paintbrush?
Surprise and misery flood him in a stout gush.
He is lost in his mind and the deep maze inside…Recovered memories suddenly propagate,
What he recalls from her throws him in a nightmare:
He beheld the lost soul yesterday near the mere,
However he had failed to notice her despair.– I do understand now, he whimpers, much too late!