I met an traveller from an antique time,
Who said - "Two vast and trunkless sites of web
Stand in the archive.... Near them, on the page,
Half sunk a shattered image lies, whose frown,
and broken source, and sneer of cold markup,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless sites,
The hand that typed them, and the heart that fed;
And on the site, these words appear:
<center><h1>My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!</h1></center>
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Web, boundless and bare,
The lone and level pages stretch far away.