Ozymandias
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Ozymandias by Piercy Sherry I met a traveler from an antique land who said, Too vast in trunk lis, legs of stone stand in the desert, near them on the sand, half sunk a shattered visage. Lies whose frown and wrinkled lip and a sneer of cold command tell that its sculptor, well, those passion Fred, which yet survive stamped on these lifeless things the hand that mark from and heart that fed him. 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.