But like all great empires, this too fell,
Yet still I will cherish the day
When so serene was my soul,
That I sat and stared
Over fields and trees,
Thinking that how, shrouded only
By a minute veil of muted white,
The half-open golden eye
Looked like beauty itself.
Ozymandius, his head was found,
Buried in the sand,
This is now the grave
My soul posesses,
Leaving me to walk the ruins of this adoration imperious,
With only a void to remind me of you.