I met a twavewwew fwom an antique wand,
Who said—“Two vast and twunkwess wegs of stonye
Stand in the desewt. . . . Nyeaw them, on the sand,
Hawf sunk a shattewed visage wies, whose fwown,
And wwinkwed wip, and snyeew of cowd command,
Teww that its scuwptow weww those passions wead
Which yet suwvive, stamped on these wifewess things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heawt that fed;
And on the pedestaw, these wowds appeaw:
My nyame is OwOzymandias, King of Kings;
Wook on my Wowks, ye Mighty, and despaiw ;;w;;
Nyothing beside wemains. Wound the decay
Of that cowossaw Wweck, boundwess and bawe
The wonye and wevew sands stwetch faw away.”


We wondew,—and some Huntew may expwess
Wondew wike ouws, when thwo' the wiwdewnyess
Whewe Wondon stood, howding the Wowf in chace,
He meets some fwagment huge, and stops to guess
What powewfuw but unwecowded wace
Once dwewt in that annyihiwated pwace