A descendant from a traveller to an antique land
That Shelley wrote of with poetic hand
...
The wind angrily blows, spraying the shore.
Heavy breath of rain sings song of ruin dire.
...
This argument acrimonious
Might soon turn felonious:
You'd take my life.
You are saying you would murder me,
...
Rise against the wind, my friend,
The way a kite must fly:
It is the way you must defend
Our freedom; Raise the cry!
...
Ozymandias Revisited
A descendant from a traveller to an antique land
That Shelley wrote of with poetic hand
Returned to see Ozymandias.
'I saw, ' said he, ' No trunkless legs of stone;
'And of that shattered visage nothing remains
'Of that frown, and wrinkled lip of cold disdain.
'But perhaps, I heard a moan, from underground perceived a groan
'From hell. 'I am Ozymanias, ' the pedestal still read, and that was all.''
Around the pedestal was nothing but desert sand:
No sign of awe or despair was sustained in the land
And no one the king or kingdom could recall.