Ozymandius

I was in Uzbekistan on a due diligence mission in Andijan. Driving back and forth from Andijan to Khanabat, and then Fergana, and still later in Tashkent, a poem was running through my mind, something from long ago, but I couldn't remember its name. Finally, sitting on the 04:00 Turkish Airlines flight, waiting for departure, talking to some blessedly interesting people from the OSCE, I remembered:

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 lips, 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 then, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal these words appear:

My name is Ozymandius, 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."