I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and 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 sneer1 of cold command
Tell that its sculptor2 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 Mighty3, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains4. Round the decay
Of that colossal5 wreck6, boundless7 and bare,
The lone8 and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792 - 1822