Our revels are now ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
The cloud-cappd 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. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded in a sleep.
Author: William Shakespeare (The Tempest, III, iv)
| Vanished< Prev |
|---|
