Ozymandias, or, An Ode To Donald Trump
Ozymandias, King of Kings
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. 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!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Percy Shelley, “Ozymandias”, 1819 edition
The prominent theme of Shelley’s poem is the inevitable decline of rulers and their hubris. In the poem, despite Ozymandias’ grandiose ambitions, the power turns out to be ephemeral.
“. . . power turns out to be ephemeral.” Which is exactly what will remain of Trump after we have had a chance to clean up the sewage, the rot, the trash that he has erected.
To remind Trump:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.