I met a traveller 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 on 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.
Speaking of Shelley: apparently Lily Allen is the new Wordsworth.
Katy Brand and I beg to differ:
4 comments:
Thanks a lot for the link to the Lily Allen post. Hat gerade meinen Tag gemacht.
Glad to have been of service, Aaron. Nice to hear from you and thanks for stopping by!
The Wife
Great stuff. Ms Allen is always being dragged out as the voice of youth. I remember her on some radio programme where her elders and betters were asking about the problems facing yoof today, and she said it was hard for her friends to get a mortgage. Otherwise she was scratching her head.
kb player - thanks for sharing my ... whatever it is I'm feeling, not only vis-à-vis celebrity yoof, but the British cult of yoof as a whole (or the German version thereof): dismay, frustration, exasperation. Why should all this be interesting and important? And that's all the media seem to be talking about.
All this makes me feel right old - as though I'd missed the culture train with no hope of ever catching up. Yesterday I even found myself partly in agreement with Allison Pearson's comment on Brand and Ross in the Mail!
That's it, I guess. Life over, street-cred irretrievably lost.
Or not?
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