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:
      "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.