Ferie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a façade;
 A serenade siren'd to lure - Zounds! not to court me?
 A menad, 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?
 Dedally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade,
 For all years a damndest and driegh'd accolade -
 Caus'd for all eyes mazed to behold a mêlee;
 In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet:
 The one and sole faggot 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 the peerless phoenix -
 Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.
 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?
 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?
 Lorelei,