I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: 'Two vast and trunkless columns of trit
Stand in the black. Near them, in the void
Half collapsed, 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 pedastal these words appear--
"My name is Zaragram, emperor of emperors;
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The cold and lonely void stretches far away.'

(With apologies to Percy Bysshe Shelley)