David Park Barnitz (1878–1901), The Book of Jade, “Ennui” (1901)
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 dreamt of you.
Naught really is; all things are very old,
and very foolish. Please, now, go away.”