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...
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