Whatever Place He Goes, On Land Or Sea, Under A Sky On Fire, Or A Polar Sun, Servant Of Jesus, Follower Of Cytherea, Shadowy Beggar, Or Croesus The Glittering One, City-Dweller Or Rustic, Traveller Or Sedentary, Whether His Tiny Brain Works Fast Or Slow, Everywhere Man Knows The Terror Of Mystery, And With A Trembling Eye Looks High Or Low. Above, The Sky! That Burial Vault That Stifles, A Ceiling Lit For A Comic Opera, Blind Walls, Where Each Actor Treads A Blood-Drenched Stage: Freethinkers' Fear, The Hermit Sets His Hope On: The Sky! The Black Lid Of The Giant Cauldron, Under Which We Vast, Invisible Beings Rage.