Where should this music be? i' th' air or th' earth?
It sounds no more;--and sure it waits upon
Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank
Weeping again the king my father's wrack
This music crept by me upon the waters
Allaying both their fury and my passion
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,--
Or it hath drawn me rather,--but 'tis gone
No, it begins again

Full fathom five thy father lies
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong
Hark! now I hear them, - ding-dong bell