To me was sent,
"As each imagined anguish did appear,
Each withering bliss
Before my soul, I cried, 'Oh! spare me here,
Oh, no, not this!'
"Like one that having need of, deep within,
The surgeon's knife,
Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,
Though for his life.
"Nay, then, but he, who best doth understand