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Thoughts in Church

You, in vestments prim,
You need not look 
So virtuous and deraure,
You author of desire and long unrest, 
False idol of heathen like me
Who worship Beauty
In human shape. 
I have wished you dead, O singer,
I have wished you lost 
Beyond my sight - In vain!
I know it! The harm was done
With that first look.