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 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
How often I have thought of this poem over the years!
One cool, windy morning I climbed a mountain in south-eastern Turkey (Kurdish territory) to watch the sun come up over a burial mound built at the summit for some ancient king, whose name no one remembers. Giant heads carved from stone, (the king’s likeness, perhaps?) some toppled now, surrounded the mound and the words kept running through my mind, “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair”. This poem, and ancient ruins such as that one in Turkey, strike me with the impermanance of all things.
I’m sitting at my desk at work in far eastern Russia, writing this. My current home is in Northern Ontario – when I am there. I am a traveller, having visited many countries. I grew up in Nfld, left in 1972 and have returned only twice since, but lately I have had such a longing, an ache, to return…
I stumbled in some convuluted way onto your site. So glad I did. I’ll add it to my favourites.
Thank you,
Terri