Ennui

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Ennui

I sat in tall Gomorrah on a day,

Boring myself with solitude and dreams,

When, like strange priests, with sacerdotal tread,

The seven mortal sins, in rich array,

Came in and knelt: one old, and weak, and gray,

One that was shrouded like a person dead,

And one whose robes cast reddish-purple gleams

Upon her scornful face at peace alway.

They swung before me amschirs of strange gold,

And one most beautiful began to pray,

Dreamily garmented in pallid blue.

But I said only⁠—I have dream’d of you.

Naught really is; all things are very old,

And very foolish.

Please to go away.