Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
And so I awoke, my ears still ringing with celestial chimes, sweet chords imperceptibly fading, overlaid with the soothing sound of the bubbling spring. I open my eyes and find myself back in the Dark Wood, now illuminated by a ray of sunlight shining through the branches of the yew tree I am sitting under.