Faerie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a facade,
A serenade siren'd to lure, Zounds! not to court me?
A maenad, yet the sweetest colleen,
Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine.
Lorelei,
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death,
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei,
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?
Deadally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade,
For all years a damndest and driegh'd accolade
Caus'd for all eyes mazed to behold a melee,
In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet,,
The one and sole fagot that feedeth the fire,
Bellow�´d bidingly by my heart's quailing quire.
Lorelei,
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death,
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei,
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?
Perchance author I thee this ikon'd apologue for aught,
Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought,
'Tween Ã??ther and 'Nether art thou the peerless phoenix,
Prithee, darlingmost! Court me rather than the peevish prolix.
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