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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

Her is empty and her heart is old
And filled with shades and echoes deceive
blind bent fingers, nets that cannot hold
No one her for still she tries to weave
Once all arms rode up to her 'tis told
And hovered like birds for her caress
A crown she could have to bind tress
Of hair and her sweet arms the witches

Her mirrors her whiteness for there
She rose in dreams other dreams
From other dreams, from other
Her as she stood crowned with soft hair
And with his heart and his young eyes bent
And blind he feels her presence like shed
Holding his body and life within its
Her softness as she crowned with soft hair
Holding his and life within its snare

Her house is and her heart is old
And filled with and echoes that deceive
With bent fingers, nets that cannot hold
No one save her for she tries to weave
Once all men's arms rode up to her 'tis
And hovered like white for her caress
A she could have to bind each tress
Of hair and her sweet arms the witches