I met a traveller from a bankrupt land,
Who said – “Two vast and trunkless legs of gold
Stand at a Golf Course. . . . Near them, on the land,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those poisons read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the hate that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Trumpymandias, GOAT of GOATs;
Look on my Works, ye Suckers, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level lands stretch far away.
Who said – “Two vast and trunkless legs of gold
Stand at a Golf Course. . . . Near them, on the land,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those poisons read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the hate that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Trumpymandias, GOAT of GOATs;
Look on my Works, ye Suckers, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level lands stretch far away.
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