Fourth Circle of Hell for the Depressives

Lodged in the slime they say: ‘Once we were grim

And sullen in the sweet air above, that took
A further gladness from the play of sun;
Inside us, we bore acedia’s dismal smoke.

We have this black mire now to be sullen in.’
This canticle they gargle from the craw,
Unable to speak whole words.

 — The Inferno of Dante
tr. Robert Pinsky

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