Friday, April 12, 2013

The Last Aristocrat


I met a traveler 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!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley


Always On Watch said...

I was thinking about this poem just the other day and about how this poem may well apply to all of Western civilization in a few decades.

Time IS the great leveler.

Thersites said...

Civilizations come and go. Even the founders get forgotten once the people's debt to them is forgotten. Humanity is not anything if not the remembrance of indebtedness and debt.