A beard of virgin wool appeared
On my surgeon, who, in urgent
Hours, did have my vainglory sheared,
And, his hand sewed flesh convergent
While I cold-pressed a chrism of tears,
And, we nursed music from the spheres.
I heard a burning bull offer
On the table that bestrode mine
A sullen sigh like a coffer
Abundant and rich and malign—
A grey grunt which was a Tumor
Advert craving a consumer.
I hastened the blade deep into
Zeal, concealing not what appealed
As his colour bled to imbue
And tint me wet letters unsealed;
Under I went, waxed cosmetic,
And, emerged peripatetic.