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.”
With the recent uproar over statues, I’m now beginning to wonder who Ozymandias was? We he an Egyptian Pharaoh? Was he an Assyrian or a Persian? Maybe he was my distant ancestor Genghis Khan?
And was Percy Shelley really making a timeless statement about the way the passing of time destroys the memory of great men? Or was he just another white Englishman rejoicing in the “erasure” of ancient cultures not Greek or Roman?
I’m going to have to rate this poem as “problematic,” especially if Ozymandias was a person of color.