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And what befell Ozymandias' image has befallen almost all the works of the ancients' hands. A few of their temples remain, and the arches of their viaducts and some of the images of their public worship and of their national ideals. But their wealth and the treasure houses which they kept it in and the palaces of their pleasure and the cities of their pride are gone. I never felt more keenly the tragedy and the truth of this utter transitoriness and insecurity of all national glory than looking over the massive ruins of the palace of the Chosroes kings at Kasr-i-Shirin. All of Browning's "Love Among the Ruins" seemed to be there in mute evidence before one's eyes: