Monday, 17 April 2006

Ozymandius, King of Kings

In case you're wondering about my reference to Ozymandius in the previous blog, here is Shelley's masterpiece. I promise not to go all poetic again. I regard most poetry as pretentious tripe and avoid it at all costs, but occasionally I stumble across something that makes my spine tingle. Very rare, I assure you.

Ozymandius by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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 Ozymandius, 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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