Ophelia laid to rest
In the sylvan forest
Amongst trailing ranunculus
Without any fuss 
Her mother didnt want it
And Millais knew best

Much better than
A vale of rest for
Pre Raphaelite dreams
Where e'er  it seems the
Stone breakers daughter
Would rival Waterhouse wizardry

In briar rose fantasy of April Love
Thus spoke Merlin on Burne Jones
Brush stokes and little to joke about
With Holman Hunt
All upfront with The 'light of the world'

Jesus locked out of mankinds house
As love locked out for Watts
And on the Eve of St Agnes
They all held sway
Except poor John Ruskin
Deprived of his wife by 
Majestic Millais

Lonely still in his will
To forget
And yet
In forgiveness he came to
Unite the band of brothers
Who's mothers and Christina
Were justly proud

And off course dear Ophelia
Sweet sleeping Ophelia
Of the Family Balls
She was proud too
Yet sound asleep in water
 

Didnt want it