I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in a cornfield. Near them, in the corn,
Half buried, 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 Illinimandias, king of backs:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level fields stretch far away.