I met a traveller from an antique land<br />Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone<br />Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,<br />Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown<br />And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command<br />Tell that its sculptor well those passions read<br />Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,<br />The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.<br />And on the pedestal these words appear:<br />"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:<br />Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"<br />Nothing beside remains. Round the decay<br />Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare<br />The lone and level sands stretch far away.
