[Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)]
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I met a traveller from an antique land
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Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert.
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Near them, on the sand,
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Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
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And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
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Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
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Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
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The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
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And on the pedestal these words appear:
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"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
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Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
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Nothing beside remains.
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Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
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The lone and level sands stretch far away.
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Ozymandias
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The Black League |