Chapter 117 of 381 · 57 words · ~1 min read

XV.

The soul unto itself Is an imperial friend, -- Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.

Secure against its own, No treason it can fear; Itself its sovereign, of itself The soul should stand in awe.

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit, -- Life!