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 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 peerless phoenix -   Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.