I met a traveller from an antique epoch,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of fossilized bones
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered skull lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its evolution well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The claw that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the footprint, these ideas appear:
My name is Tyrannosaurus , King of Kings;
Look on my skeleton, 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.