Blood Lips They Had Yet Wane, So Pale Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Blood lips they had yet wane, so pale!
The blood was centered in their lips
How trembled wrinkle on wrinkle
And drear in silence sounded
Thin
Thin and taut in that Wood of Horror
Where whispers dreary fell as dews
When nights be sick
When the Stomachs well up
And the nose painted heavy
Breathing
In that ardent chill of chills
Stinking:
Here
Here walk barefoot in the snows
Frozen continual by the Stygian winds
Horror from horror engendering
Fire nauseating to fire of the vomiting
The ire of Horror in pyre.