- 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.