A feud between body and mind.
The sort of which you're like to find
In psychiatrical pastime,
Resides within me now.

Who holds the bow, I do not know.
I feel them tousle to-and-fro.
Round in circles, they do go.
On, like a nursery rhyme.

Can I last their fateful blows,
Will I live in sad repose?
Time alone will tell me so.
Oh cursed, misplaced sublime!