Red Crown of Ozymandias

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 shatter'd visage lies, whose frown / And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command / Tell that its sculptor well those passions read / Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, / The hand that mock'd 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!" / Nothing beside remains: round the decay / Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, / The lone sands stretch far away.