Ophelia

I
On the calm black wave where the stars sleep
White Ophelia floats like a great lily,
Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils...
- In distant woods we hear them sound the mort.

Here more than a thousand years that sad Ophelia
Passes, phantom white, on the long black river;
Here more than a thousand years that her sweet madness
Has murmured its ballad with the evening breeze.

The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a corolla
Her long veils gently cradled by the waters;
The shivering willows weep upon her cheeks,
Across her great brow the rushes lean.

Water lilies sigh crumpled around her;
She wakes sometimes, in an alder which sleeps,
Some nest, from where a small shiver escapes from wings:
- A mysterious chant falls from golden stars.

II
O pale Ophelia, beautiful as snow!
Yes you died, child, carried away by a river!
Because of the winds falling from the great mountains of Norway
You had whispered of bitter freedom;

It's a breath that, twisting your great hair,
In your dreamy mind carries strange noise,
That your heart listened to the singing of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights;

It is because the voice of mad seas, huge rattle,
Your infant heart broke, too human and too soft;
It is because one April morning, a beautiful pale rider,
Poor madman, sat mute at your knees!

Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, O poor fool!
You melted to him as snow in the fire:
Your great visions strangled your words
- And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye!

III
And the Poet says that by the light of stars
You seek the flowers, at night, that you gathered;
And he saw on the water, lying in her long veils,
White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.

- Arthur Rimbaud, "sale petit cagot"