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