The (Most) Nabobist

>I MET a traveller 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 shatter'd visage lies, whose frown >And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command >Tell that its sculptor well those passions read >Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, >The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. >And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, 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.