Frie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a fa?ade;
A serenade siren’d to lure - Zound! Not to court me?
A m?nad, yet the sweetest colleen -
Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine.


Lorelei,
Apoet of tragedies, scribe Ilauds 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?

D?dally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade,
For all years a damnndest and driegh ‘d accolade -
Caus’d for all eyes mazéd to behold a mêlée;
In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet:
The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire,
Below’d bidingly by my heart’s quailing quire.

Lorelei,
A poet of tragidies, 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 bethlink thine afterthought:,
Tween Aether, Nether art thou the peerless phoenix -
Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.
Lorelei,
A poet of tragidies, 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?