Anamnesis

oh, ello again. Time for the weekly memorization. Everyone should know a bit of obscure poetry from some dead bloke that everyone forgot. Indeed. This week comes from Percy Bysshe Shelley (who apparently did not have the nicest parents, ha! The naming clearly had a drastic impact on the poor lad for he wrote sonnets. If you happen to also write sonnets, don't tell anybody, this is embarrassing) This sonnet came out quite nicely, however, and made it to this prominent place of display:


Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. 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