All For Naught

Wandering around the broken-tooth fortifications of Saqsaywaman outisde Cuzco with Dad and reading about how the Spaniards had torn down the impossibly engineered stone walls to build their own houses, Dad mentioned a poem that sprang to mind about the inevitable ravaging of time on empires and the men who founded them, no matter how mighty they once were. After a short bit of internet digging the poem was found, and by crikey it's a good one.

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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 shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd 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.

Cuzco, Peru
20th November 2009