Theatre Of Tragedy Lorelei
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.
