I met a traveller from an antique land A
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone B
Stand in the desert… near them, on the sand, A
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, C
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, A
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read D
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, E
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: D

And on the pedestal these words appear: F
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: E
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ F
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay G
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare F
The lone and level sands stretch far away G

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