I met a traveller from an ancient land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless breasts of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and smile of old command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that rocked them, and the heart that bled,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Mother of All Blessed Sons, Queen of Queens:
Look upon my works, ye Catters, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.