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.