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I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart… near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lips, 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, & the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, this legend clear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,
Look on my Works ye Mighty, & despair!
Nothing remains beside. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
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Ozymandias
Percy Bysshe Shelley
1792-1822
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This version of the text (showing slight variants against
modern editions) is taken from an autograph fair copy
from one of Shelley’s notebooks in the Bodleian Library,
Oxford, UK.
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