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 shatter d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock d 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.