Chapters 12
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1 Ophelia - Read by ADD 2:09
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, Espalier, in a fading summer air. And there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies Have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a lovely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, It seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes. Out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues and heedless ears. At least, at last, the world should learn heart secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal. Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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2 Ophelia - Read by ANC 1:46
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, espalier in the fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now, In that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, Which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, Mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, It seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath, to that old ruin clings, And rosemary, that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears, and lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets, Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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3 Ophelia - Read by JS 2:02
Ophelia by Walter de la Mare.
Ophelia.
There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, a spalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, Whom wind and snow-flakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness.
And when, amid startled birds, she sings lament, Mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string.
Ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings, and rosemary, that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams.
But ah, if utterable, Would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is? Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears. And lest at last the world should learn heart secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal, better the glassy horror of the stream.
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4 Ophelia - Read by KF 1:36
Ophelia.
There runs a crisscross pattern of small leaves, his palier, in a fading summer air. And there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet crooked mouth, that vacant smile, only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when, amid startled birds, she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath. that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah! if utterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears, and lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets. Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket's steel Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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5 Ophelia - Read by KLH 2:00
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer. Read for LibriVox.org by Kristen Hughes.
There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, a spalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if unutterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes. Out! Out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears. And lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal. Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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6 Ophelia - Read by KRS 1:38
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, a spalia, in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet crooked mouth, That vacant smile. Only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when, amid startled birds, she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings, and rosemary, that sees remembrance fade. And pansies, deeper than the gloom of dreams. But, ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words spoken of tedious tongues and heedless ears. And lest at last the world should learn heart secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal, Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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7 Ophelia - Read by KSH 1:59
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer.
Friday, the second of March, two thousand and seven.
Ophelia. There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves espalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks an azure flower, Whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when, amid startled birds, she sings lament, mocking in hope, The long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string.
Ivy she hath that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base unreal thing it is? Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears, and lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets. Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal. Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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8 Ophelia - Read by LB 1:50
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Burgoyne. Ophelia. There runs a crisscross pattern of small leaves, Esphalia, in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes And the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past, all weeping now, in that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile, only a lonely grey in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, mocking in hope that long voice of the stream, It seems her heart's lute have a broken string. Ivy she have, that too old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams, but are, if utterable, would this earth remain the base?
Unreal thing it is. Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out of hearing of all useless words. Spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears, and lest, at last, the world should learn hard secrets, lest that sweat wolf from some dim thicket steal. Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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9 Ophelia - Read by LM 1:29
It's the 25th of February, and we're at PodCamp Toronto, 2007. Ophelia. There runs a crisscross pattern of small leaves espalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now. In that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile, only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, Mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings and rosemary, that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams.
But ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base unreal thing it is? Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of Tiege's tongues in heedless ears. And lest, at last, the world should learn heart's secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steel Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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10 Ophelia - Read by PY 1:51
Ophelia by Walter Delamere.
There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves, espalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower Whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now in that sweet crooked mouth, that vacant smile, only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when, amid startled birds, she sings lament, Mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string. Ivy she hath that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But, ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base unreal thing it is?
Better? Be out of sight of peering eyes, Out, out of hearing of all useless words, Spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears. And lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets, Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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11 Ophelia - Read by SDM 1:46
Or narrated by Sean McKinley.
There runs a criss-cross pattern of small leaves espalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks, an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes and the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven. There is a beauty past all weeping now, in that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile. Only a gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness. And when amid startled birds she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath broken string, ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if utterable, would this earth remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes, out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears, and lest, At last, the world should learn heart secrets, Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal Better the glassy horror of the stream.
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12 Ophelia - Read by VG 1:54
Ophelia by Walter de la Mer.
There runs a gris-cross pattern of small leaves espalier in a fading summer air, and there Ophelia walks an azure flower, whom wind and snowflakes in the sudden rain of love's wild skies have purified to heaven.
There is a beauty past all weeping now, in that sweet crooked mouth, that vacant smile, only a lonely gray in those mad eyes, which never on earth shall learn their loneliness.
And when amid startled birds she sings lament, mocking in hope the long voice of the stream, it seems her heart's lute hath a broken string.
Ivy she hath that to old ruin clings, and rosemary that sees remembrance fade, and pansies deeper than the gloom of dreams. But ah, if utterable would this earth remain the base on real thing it is?
Better be out of sight of peering eyes. Out, out of hearing of all useless words, spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears. And lest, at last, the world should learn heart secrets, lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal. Better the glassy horror of the stream.