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."

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "A vast and fallen metal arm
Lies on an island.  Near it in the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose brow,
And lips, and eyes, and broken crowning band,
Tell that its sculptor well that wisdom read
Which yet survives, stamped on those lifeless things,
Those fragments left by people now long-dead.
Inscribed nearby is this, and nothing more:
'Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'
Nothing beside remains.  Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and endless waves roll far away."