Inauguration Day, a poem

What will the real legacy be?

This morning a poem popped into my head. I have not read it for years, since college, maybe.

It’s just an old sonnet by Shelley.

It seemed so timely, so relevant, that I decided to share it.

No further comment…

OZYMANDIAS

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)

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.”

Here it is, read by Bryan Cranston:

God bless our country.

Kiwi, born under the mountain, adopted by the USA. I tell my stories here at Life of Fiction, mouth off on the media biz at blastofwinter.com, then I go sailing

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