Ozymandias

I met a traveller 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,

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!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands,
Stretch far away.