jaimemartin5_
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 mock'd 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;" ,
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May , And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines , And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines , By chance , or nature’s changing course , untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade , Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st , Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade , When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe , or eyes can see , So long lives this , and this gives life to thee. ,
Deep into that darkness peering , Long I stood there , wondering , fearing , Doubting , dreaming dreams no mortals Ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken , And the stillness gave no token , And the only word there spoken Was the whispered word , "Lenore!" This I whispered , and an echo Murmured back the word , "Lenore!" Merely this , and nothing more. ,
