For a weary soul was mine to be
And (hunk—dunk—runk—sk—that will never do in the world).
She buried her dear, lovely face
Within her azure scarf,
She knew I’d take the wretchedness
As well as (parf—sarf—darf—half-and-half; that won’t answer either).
O, I had loved her many years,
I loved her for herself;
I loved her for her tender fears,
And also for her (welf—nelf—helf—pelf; no, no; not for her pelf).