Thy Words Are Like A Cloud Of

A Pard-like Spirit, Beautiful And Swift.

You Ought To Love All Mankind; Nay, Every Individual Of Mankind. You Ought Not To Love The Individuals Of Your Domestic Circles Less, But To Love Those Who Exist Beyond It More.

For Love And Beauty And Delight, There Is No Death Nor Change.

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.

Hell Is A City Much Like London A Populous And Smoky City