"I met a traveller from a southern land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in Tuscaloosa. Near them, on the dirt,
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 Saban, coach of coaches;
Look on my championships, Ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level grass stretch far away."