For days now Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones
Has spent his afternoons on his back
Staring at the Sistine Chapel's ceiling
Through opera glasses. He is now thinking
Which of the Sibyls might be worth flirting with
And has decided the Libyan might be the best
Of a very rugged sisterhood. However, it isn't her
But the Cumaean who has now begun
Casting glances at him. He wonders: would it be politic
To refuse the advances of an ancient seer who could
Crush boulders into sand but she nudges an ignudi
Who drifts to the floor and whispers to him
"God is soon going to notice you. Leave the Vatican.
Leave Rome. Leave Italy; if you have a name, change it.
Also, the Libyan Sibyl wouldn't have you as a gift."
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