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

Out – out are the lights – out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
And it's hero the Conqueror Worm" *

Time and space run through my astral veins
Stars obey my orders
Planets circulate me in neverending concentric rings
I am the center of the universe
I am COSMOS!

Загрузка...