瞧!在孤寂的晚年，这是一个欢乐的夜晚!一个天使，带着面纱，带着泪水，坐在剧院里，看一场充满希望和恐惧的戏剧，而管弦乐队则断断续续地吹着天球的音乐。哑剧，以上帝的形象高高在上，低声嘀咕，到处飞来飞去——他们不过是木偶，来来回回听命于巨大的无形之物，这些无形之物来回移动着景色，从他们的秃鹰翅膀上扇动着看不见的悲哀!那出杂七杂八的戏剧——啊，一定不会被忘记!它的幻影永远被追逐，被一群人抓住不放，经过一圈又一圈地回到同一地点，疯狂，罪恶，恐怖是情节的灵魂。但看，在模拟溃败中，一个爬行的形状闯入了!一个血红色的东西，从风景优美的孤独中扭动!它扭动着!——它在扭动!- with mortal pangs The mimes become its 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 its hero the Conqueror Worm.