You Are Carried In A Basket, Like A Carcase From The Shambles, To The Theatre, A Cockpit Where They Stretch You On A Table. Then They Bid You Close Your Eyelids, And They Mask You With A Napkin, And The Anaesthetic Reaches Hot And Subtle Through Your Being. And You Gasp And Reel And Shudder In A Rushing, Swaying Rapture, While The Voices At Your Elbow Fade - Receding - Fainter - Farther. Lights About You Shower And Tumble, And Your Blood Seems Crystallising - Edged And Vibrant, Yet Within You Racked And Hurried Back And Forward. Then The Lights Grow Fast And Furious, And You Hear A Noise Of Waters, And You Wrestle, Blind And Dizzy, In An Agony Of Effort, Till A Sudden Lull Accepts You, And You Sound An Utter Darkness . . . And Awaken . . . With A Struggle . . . On A Hushed, Attentive Audience.