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
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