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,/
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.”