Luyện nghe bài hát Ozymandias

[Poem by Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)]

I met a traveller an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless of stone stand in the desert.
them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these things,
The hand that mocked and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, of kings:
on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing remains.
Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and
The lone and sands stretch far away.