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Ozymandias
Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
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.
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