One I met who had come from an old land
 said: Cut from their trunk stand two legs of stone
 in the great sand. Near them, on the ground,
 half sunk, lies a face that has broke, whose frown
 and sneer of one whose will is ne'er bound,
 tell that one carved it who the heart-fires read
 which yet are here, stamped on these cold dead things,
 though he who felt them is these long years dead.
 And on the rest of stone these words still show:
 "All men know my name, I am King of Kings;
 Look on my works, ye great ones, and know woe!"
 Naught else is left. Round the great one's rot,
 though its wreck is huge, the sands more so,
 lone, with no end, and with no bounds nor blot.

                                -- P. Bysshe Sells
                                   (done by Carr S.)