The Pain of Enticing Ice

Th'pain of ice is th'lacquer o'stife To th'begg'd bane, stilled, thawed Caught'n satin fame, dragg'd towards Th'Blood of a sadden'd kiss, "To this" "To what o'this" Seen 'nstead of 'nfringed love The blade, call'd catharsis a dove, "To this" "To what o'love" Fraught, unthought shove Fame fall'n still, dripp'd 'n drench'd f'love Bade blade ripp'd the blanch'd flesh O'th'pure goers' eternal rest Lay hereafter, for'ver after, Goeth detestable pest, upon th' Holied site o'pelted tundra Lay'n to rest lover o'blunder, "To us" "To th'last of us" "I must" "T'what you lust" "To this" "..." The pain of ice is the cold of fear To whatever may lay here To whatever may stain the clear