Ozymandias.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
WhoHe said— “two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart... near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, & 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, & the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, this legend clear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my Works ye Mighty, & despair!
Nothing remains beside. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless & bare
The lone & level sands stretch far away.”
Who
Stand in the desart... near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, & 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, & the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, this legend clear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my Works ye Mighty, & despair!
Nothing remains beside. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless & bare
The lone & level sands stretch far away.”
