Day 88: Percy Bysshe Shelley


As far as verses about hubris go, this one is possibly the finest out there. I’ve mentioned before that I love the classics and it’s something my grandfather and I tend to geek out over. We like our Keats and Shelley and Wordsworth and the like, but Ozymandias is probably my favorite.

And sure, it might be because the first time I heard it read aloud, it was by Bryan Cranston, but hey, who’s checking?

Also, I really like how dear Ramses II’s head has come out. Watercolor is a fickle-minded medium, but I think we’re really getting along now. As a note, I got a bit lazy with the writing, so I didn’t try for a particular style. That is thus the weird amalgam of manuscript and cursive that is my real handwriting.


Full Poem: 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 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.

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