Ozymandias, Shelley

I once met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and songless turntables
Stand in Arcadia. Near them, on the ground,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose smile,
And crescent lip, and grace of calm rejoice,
Tell that its sculptor well those sensations felt
Which yet survive, blessed on these lifeless things,
The hands that spun them, and the hearts it fed.

And on our monitors, these words appear:
"I am the ambrosial Machine, king of men;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of these abstract things, gallant and golden,
The lone and restless earth stretches far away.

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