Juliet and Ophelia poems

My own JulietThe small, bare chapel, no music, no crowd to gawk at us, and when we said our vows they echoed long, as if to verify, in our own voices, our solemnity.Was I wrong then to push the world away and own that hour, that moment, for ourselves?The ravenous world, when we walked out through those chapel doors, would stuff its gorge with all the hours that it would steal from us; but one, that one -I hear its echoes even nowwould be always ours.I am no Romeo, but you have been, you are, my Juliet. * Juliet with her Romeo among the starsThose breathers, Romeo, even as they drown down there in the stream of time, still think our story was a tragedy.Our wise old friar, the herbalist, knew it was a comedy.Look at him there, still