Luyện nghe bài hát Abstract Thoughts

[by Edgar Allen

Lo! agala night
Within the lonesome years!
An angel throng, bewinged,
In veils, and in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of and fears,
the orchestra breathes fitfully
The of the spheres.

Mimes, in of God on high,
Mutter and low,
And and thither fly
Mere they,who come and go
At biding of vast things
shift the scenary to and fro,
Flapping from out of Condor wings
Woe!

The motley drama-oh, be
It not be forgot!
With its Phantom for evermore,
By a crowd seize it not,
Through a circle that ever in
To the spot,
And much of Madness, and of Sin,
And Horror the of the plot.

But see, among the rout
A crawling intrude!
A blood red thing that writhes out
The solitude!
It writhes! It writhes! mortal pangs
The mimes its food,
And the sob at vermin fangs
In gore
imbuted.

Out-out are the all!
And, over each form,
The curtain, the pall,
Comes down the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all and wan,
Uprising, unveiling,
That the play is the "Man"
and its the
worm.