Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years! A
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight B
In veils, and drowned in tears, A
Sit in a theatre, to see C
A play of hopes and fears, A
While the orchestra breathes fitfully C
The music of the spheres. A

Mimes, in the form of God on high, A
Mutter and mumble low, B
And hither and thither fly—A
Mere puppets they, who come and go B
At bidding of vast formless things C
That shift the scenery to and fro,B
Flapping from out their Condor wings C
Invisible Wo! B

That motley drama—oh, be sure A
It shall not be forgot! B
With its Phantom chased for evermore A
By a crowd that seize it not, B
Through a circle that ever returneth in C
To the self-same spot, B
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, C
And Horror the soul of the plot. B

But see, amid the mimic rout, A
A crawling shape intrude! B
A blood-red thing that writhes from out A
The scenic solitude! B
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs C
The mimes become its food, B
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs C
In human gore imbued. B

Out—out are the lights—out all! A
And, over each quivering form, B
The curtain, a funeral pall, A
Comes down with the rush of a storm, B
While the angels, all pallid and wan, C
Uprising, unveiling, affirm B
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” C
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. B


what I say, angel are crying at a play. Humans are miming god they are being controlled by a vast formless thing. what a drama. people begin chasing a phantom, this will last forever. The plot of the play is madness horror and sin. a writhes and start eating humans. Angel cry even more, from the goriness. the play ends and the lights go out, curtain comes down.it was a tragedy and the hero the conquer worm