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.