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?
Daedally dist 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 fa**ot 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 Aether and `Nether art thou peerless phoenix -
Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.