I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon 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.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley
I really enjoy the irony of that poem. Both for what it means to say, and because it references an oz in a manner showing his immortal greatness. Flattery gets you everywhere. We think of things that are seemingly a pinnacle of greatness today, not realizing that for all our boasts and thoughts of self importance that soon we will only be a faded memory, if that. Greatness today, sad broken down statuary 2000 years down the road. What do you think will be left of New York in the year 4000 A.D.?
See also The Real Ozymandias for some information on the inspiration for the poem.