Scroll to the bottom of the page
for printable versions.
Scroll to the bottom of the page
for printable versions.
I met a traveler 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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