Read Aloud
I met a traveler from an antique land
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
* Apologies to the artist - liberties taken modifying the image
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