If thine eye offend thee, pluck it
If your tired unspeaking
Rivet the dark with linear sight,
Crazed by a warlock with his
Dreamed up in some loquacious bed,
And if the stage-dark head
The fifth act of the closing night,
Why, cut it off, piece after piece,
And throw the tough cortex away,
And when you've marvelled on the
That wove their interior smoke its way,
Tear out the close vermiculate
Where death crawled angrily at bay.
