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 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 Ozymandias, King of Kings.
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
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Ëvŷ hıòna aun farztäl scil aun landŷ oqìvȧ,
Res kotwh, "wvŷn jänne an stawh, fastŷ se änstug
sjawv an a règan.
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I met a traveller from a land antique,
who said, "two legs of stone, vast and trunkless,
stand in the desert.
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