Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!
A little boat tied to a willow tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
Stand in the desert, Near them, on the sand
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command.
After W Wordsworth, P B Shelley.