Neonn: YAY! CHAPPIE 3!!!

In keeping with Ophelia's little speech on flowers, I decided to continue on that subject. Ophelia's is a little difficult to understand, unless you know something about flowers. I based my flower meanings on the ones in the Victorian times, so I'm not quite sure how they'd relate to the actual characters in their time period, but I couldn't find anything for that time. A rose symbolizes true love, and if it's red, it means passion or desire, and white is purity.

Handing the flower to another upright or with the right hand had a positive meaning, blossom downwards or with the left hand a negative or a denial, a complete reversal of the flower's upright meaning. In Victorian times, to receive a rose that was upside- down was considered the ultimate rejection.

Yellow tulips show a hopeless love that has no chance of reconciliation. Daffodils generally mean unrequited love, great regard, respect, and chivalry: they are also laden

with another double meaning: "My fond hopes have been dashed by your behavior," or "The sun is always shining when I'm with you." Lastly, columbine is "folly".

R&R PEOPLE!

Ophelia's View,

(End of Act Four)

"Blasted with ecstasy", mine own words

Could are now used for me.

He, the glass of fashion and the mould of form,

As much as offered me a rose, and I,

I would have returned it, if given the chance.

Yet, before mine eyes, he takes it, and turns it

About on its head, offering me a left hand and

Columbine. All I can give him now are yellow tulips.

And daffodils. O, my lord…my father.

My Prince's mind, in his moment of ecstasy,

Has sent my lord above.

Here, where a willow grows aslant a brook,

That shows his hoar leaves in a glassy stream,

I do come, with my garlands.

I do make coronet weeds, for the pleasing of my lords.

Above my head, a red rose is caught in the slivers.

How it came to be, I cannot know,

Yet it would crown any of mine garlands.

I reach for it, hanging my weeds on a small sliver.

The flower is just above, if I can but reach…

The sliver has broken, and the flower floats

In the weeping, crying brook.

I reach, and the tears of the brook rush up to greet me.

They encompass me, as my lords' soft, caring?, arms.

It tears cover mine own, as I sing,

Singing out to my rose, my lonely white rose.

But I am alone, and the roses are out of reach.