Whose woods these are, I think I know:
his house is in the village.
He will not see me stopping here,
a sneer of cold command upon his visage.
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings!
Watch my woods fill up with snow!
I've miles to go before I sleep
upon my vast and trunkless legs of stone!"
Words stamped upon the lifeless things,
half-sunk in woods so dark and deep,
the shattered pedestal, alone,
with all its promises to keep.
The little horse looks on it, and despairs.
(1/2)
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The darkest evening of the year.
Round the decay, boundless and bare
beside the woods and frozen lake,
the lone and level sands stretch far away.
(2/2)
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text/gemini