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Home  »  The World’s Best Poetry  »  Death the Leveller

Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.

V. Death and Bereavement

Death the Leveller

James Shirley (1596–1666)

  • [These verses are said to have “chilled the heart” of Oliver Cromwell.]


  • THE GLORIES of our blood and state

    Are shadows, not substantial things;

    There is no armor against fate;

    Death lays his icy hand on kings:

    Sceptre and crown

    Must tumble down,

    And in the dust be equal made

    With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

    Some men with swords may reap the field,

    And plant fresh laurels where they kill;

    But their strong nerves at last must yield;

    They tame but one another still:

    Early or late,

    They stoop to fate,

    And must give up their murmuring breath,

    When they, pale captives, creep to death.

    The garlands wither on your brow,

    Then boast no more your mighty deeds;

    Upon death’s purple altar now

    See where the victor-victim bleeds:

    Your heads must come

    To the cold tomb;

    Only the actions of the just

    Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.