Where'er he be, on water or land, Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band, Shadowy beggar or Crœsus rich with gold;
Citizen, peasant, student, tramp, whate'er His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere, And peeps, with trembling glances, overhead.
The heaven above? A strangling cavern wall;
The lighted ceiling of a music-hall Where every actor treads a bloody soil—
The hermit's hope; the terror of the sot;
The sky: the black lid of the mighty pot Where the vast human generations boil!
Pluvioso, irritado contra la ciudad entera,
De su urna, en grandes oleadas vierte un frío tenebroso
Sobre los pálidos habitantes del vecino cementerio …