KEY POINTS:
Like much of the literary output of dead white males, Percy Bysshe Shelley's sonnet Ozymandias is quietly receding into oblivion, but there was a time when no poetry anthology left the editor's desk without it.
A favourite with teachers and students alike for its brevity and readily identifiable
theme, Ozymandias is a reflection on the impermanence of power and fame or, to put it another way, the iconoclasm of time.
A traveller from an antique land describes the ruin of a vast statue of Ozymandias, kings of kings. In the words carved into the pedestal the long-dead ruler boasts, "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
But Ozymandias' kingdom has vanished and his palaces and great projects have been swallowed up by the desert: "Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away."
Politicians who claw their way to the top of the greasy pole are obviously fiercely ambitious. They may be true believers; they may have a deep and abiding sense of public service. Those who fall into both categories usually end up putting their ideology before the public good.
Some see themselves as men or women of destiny and, like narcissists always on the lookout for a reflective surface, have half an eye on their place in history.
Having reached the top (and, in the case of male leaders, perhaps experienced the well-documented phenomenon of the aphrodisiac of power), they are understandably reluctant to step down.
Untroubled by the whims of the electorate or constitutional restraints, dictators tend to die in harness, although that's partly a matter of self-preservation and an unwillingness to surrender the keys to the exchequer.
Two of the greatest figures of the 20th century clung to power when they were mentally (Winston Churchill) and physically (Franklin D. Roosevelt) significantly impaired. Within a few years of Roosevelt's death during his fourth term in office, the Constitution had been amended to incorporate the informal tradition, begun by George Washington, of Presidents serving only two terms.
Now John Howard's name can be added to the long list of those whose hubris and love of the trappings of office blinded them to the signs that they were past their use-by dates.
Howard gave every indication of caring deeply about his place in history - his hero and model was Sir Robert Menzies, Australia's longest-serving Prime Minister. But his hard-won reputation will be another casualty of his insistence on sticking around for an election that always looked like a bridge too far.
If Howard had stepped down a year ago, he would have left office with the grateful thanks of a prosperous nation and been fast-tracked into the conservative pantheon to sit at Menzies' right hand. His reputation as a political maestro with an uncanny feel for the aspirations of suburban Australia would be unassailable.
Instead he was booted out of politics by the electorate he represented for 33 years. His legacy is already under attack and he's being directly blamed for the Coalition's rout (so much for "It's the economy, stupid") and castigated as a vain, slippery old man who ignored his closest confidantes' advice and welshed on promises to make way for his heir apparent, Peter Costello.
And that's just what his friends are saying about him.
Costello meanwhile, well aware that if recent history is any guide, the electorate won't tire of Kevin Rudd until sometime around 2017, has retreated to the backbenches to chart a new life outside politics. Howard will cop the blame for that too.
New Zealand has sometimes replicated Australia's seismic political shifts but we'll have to wait and see whether the bell has also tolled for Helen Clark, as the polls suggest.
In the meantime, those who savour bare-knuckle winner-takes-all contests can sit back and enjoy the endgame of the All Black coaching appointment.
The choice between Graham Henry and Robbie Deans mirrors the Liberal Party's dilemma over Howard and Costello in a couple of respects. There's the same generational divide - Deans is 48 while Henry, 61, made his name in the amateur era like his almost exact contemporaries John Hart, Laurie Mains and Alex Wyllie.
And just as Costello, the Prime Minister-in-waiting for 11 years, has effectively turned his back on the party that couldn't bring itself to tell Howard his time was up, so Deans is likely to accept the telephone numbers on offer across the Tasman if the NZRU opts to stick with Henry.
That, in turn, would set the scene for bitter recriminations down the track should the Wallabies flourish at the All Blacks' expense.
Howard must bitterly regret not heeding the old showbiz adage "Always leave them wanting more". It seems sorry isn't the hardest word after all. It's goodbye.