I
met a Traveler from an antique land,
Who
said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand
in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half
sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And
wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell
that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which
yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The
hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And
on the pedestal these words appear:
"My
name is Ozymandias, King of Kings."
Look
on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
No
thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of
that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The
lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy
Bysshe Shelley, 1818
