[Young Poe:]



Lo! 't is a gala night

A mystic throng bedecked

Sit in a theater to see

A play of hopes and fears

While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres



Mimes, mutter and mumble low

Mere puppets they, who come and go

Disguised as gods

They shift the scenery to and fro

Inevitably trapped by invisible Wo



This motley drama

to be sure

Will not be forgotten



A phantom chased for evermore

Never seized by the crowd

Through they circle

Returning to the same spot

Circle and return to the selfsame spot

Always to the selfsame spot

With much of madness and more of sin

And horror and mimic rout

The soul of the plot

Out

out are the lights

out all

And over each dying form

The curtain a funeral pall

Comes with the rush of a storm

The angels haggard and wan

Unveiling and uprising affirm

That the play is the tragedy "Man"

And its hero the Conqueror Worm