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 anæsthetic 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.

William Ernest Henley,

London Voluntaries, 1898.