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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From Ajax Dirge</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The glories of our blood and state<br>Are shadows, not substantial things;<br>There is no armor against fate;<br>Death lays his icy hand on kings.<br> Scepter and crown<br> Must tumble down<br>And in the dust be equal made<br>With the poor crooked scythe and spade.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Some men with swords may reap the field<br>And plant fresh laurels where they kill,<br>But their strong nerves at last must yield;<br>They tame but one another still.<br> Early or late<br> They stoop to fate<br>And must give up their murmuring breath,<br>When they, pale captives, creep to death.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The garlands wither on your brow,<br>Then boast no more your mighty deeds;<br>Upon death’s purple altar now<br>See where the victor-victim bleeds.<br> Your heads must come<br> To the cold tomb;<br>Only the actions of the just<br>Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=James+Shirley">James Shirley</a></strong></div>

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