i met a traveler from an antique land who said

two vast and trunkless baby seal leather boots lie in the desert,

near them, on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies

whose frown, and petty gawk, and sarcastic pouting lips

tell that its sculptor well those passions read

which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things

the face that mocked them, and the heart that fed

and on the pedestal these words appear:

“NO MAIDENS?!?!?!”

nothing beside remains

round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

the lone and level sands stretch far away