[Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)]

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