"I met a traveller from an antique land. Who said, two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in desert. Near them on the sand 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 the heart that feed 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."
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