That looks odd. The entire poem, for context:

        Ozymandias

        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.

                                -- Percy Bysshe Shelley

It really shows what can be done with the sonnet form.

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

One of my favorites of Shelley's work.

...solving a problem by becoming the problem is not going to fix anything at all.

Exactly so. In fact, it generally makes things worse - sometimes much worse. But it is distressingly common.

I don't see any references to the 36th Infantry Division among the top hits when I run that query. Most of the hits just say 36th Virginia Infantry, with no designation. From what I recall, most Civil War units identified by number/state are regiments or battalions, while brigades, divisions, and corps tend to be identified by the name of their commander. I could be wrong about that, though - I'm just depending on memory (rather than Google).

Yes, exactly so. Well put.

        She walks in beauty, like the night
                Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
        And all that's best of dark and bright
                Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
        Thus mellow'd to that tender light
                Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

        One shade the more, one ray the less,
                Had half impair'd the nameless grace
        Which waves in every raven tress,
                Or softly lightens o'er her face;
        Where thoughts serenely sweet express
                How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

        And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
                So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
        The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
                But tell of days in goodness spent,
        A mind at peace with all below,
                A heart whose love is innocent!

                        -- George Gordon, Lord Byron

But I used this one five years ago (3 August 2006). There was a bit more hope, at that juncture.