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.