[poem by percy bysshe sh*lley (1792-1822)]
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 p*ssions 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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