Of power,—and their own weakness hide;
But death shall find unlooked-for ways
To end the farce of pride.
Death levels all things, in his march
Nought can resist his mighty strength;
The palace proud,—triumphal arch,
Shall mete their shadow’s length:
The rich, the poor, one common bed
Shall find, in the unhonoured grave,
Where weeds shall crown alike the head