Marionettes (C. K. Norwid)

Wouldn't you be bored when a million
Silent stars shine around the world,
Each cluster sparkling in a different mould,
All still—yet flying?...

And still the earth—the aeons vast,
And those living at this hour
Of whom not a bone will last,
Though men will be as now...

Wouldn't you be bored on a stage
So amateurish and small,
Where everyone's Ideals rage
And the show is paid with life?—

Truly, how is one to kille the time,
I am most sincerely bored;
What remedy, Madam, should I explore,
Shall I write prose or rhyme?—

Or write nothing... just sit in the sun
Absorbed in that fine romance:
Composed by the Flood upon grains of sand,
Doubtless for the amusement of man (!)—

Or better still—I know a braver way
Against this damned ennui:
Forget people, make calls on persons,
Wear a neatly fastened tie!...