Nay, Learned Doctor by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Nay, learned doctor, these fine leeches fresh

From the pond's edge my cause cannot remove:

Alas, the sick disorder in my flesh

Is deeper than your skill, is very love.

And you, good friar, far liefer would I think

Upon my dear, and dream him in your place, / Than heed your ben'cites and heavenward sink

With empty heart and noddle full of grace.

Breathes but one mortal on the teeming globe

Could minister to my soul's or body's needs-

Physician minus physic, minus robe; Confessor minus Latin, minus beads.

Yet should you bid me name him, I am dumb;

For though you summon him, he would not come.