By Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs
Of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on
The sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose
Frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold
Command,
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!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the
Decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and
Bare
The lone and level sands stretch far
Away.”