All those poets, storytellers, playwrights, etc, who write with a straight face about how one's - anyone's - heart would break for the loveliness, they're right after all. There are real live Ophelias in this world, by whom only a Hamlet would be mad (or fool) enough not to be bewitched. There are also women - and by no means only Ophelias - of whom only one Lover is worthy, and whom only one Lover can satisfy, and in just one kind of Place (however much they may pretend otherwise, elsewhere, in the meantime).
And so of course I'd be lying if I told you I was even a small part of their answer. Or indeed anything remotely resembling the Question. But by the same token, if only they could know (even as I'm hardly the one to convince them) how much he . . . this . . . we (any of us) . . . definitely aren't . . .