We glorify power, fame and strength when they don’t even stand a chance before the most powerful force, death. In life, there are ups and downs, the powerful and the powerless, rich and poor. But death ultimately levels all these differences and makes everything equal.

The poem ‘Death The Leveller’ by J. Shirley starts with stating that all the glories of humans are mere shadows which appear and disappear after some time. They do not make up an essential part of human life.  This is because there is nothing that can defend us from our fate. We can’t fight against it. When Death lays his cold hand on Kings, they can’t protect themselves and their sceptre and crown are ought to tumble down. The most powerful of all the kings is turned to dust and made equal with the poorest peasant on death. The sceptre and crown are as powerless as scythe and spade.

The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armour 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.

The second stanza gives the picture of men in armour. Men fight battles and rejoice fame from killing their foes. Such battles boast bravery, chivalry, and courage. But even the strongest soldier must yield to death. No matter how brave he fights death, sooner or later, he must surrender to fate. He ceases breathing as death slowly creeps up to this captive of fate. Thus, even the strongest soldier is also rendered powerless by death.

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 flowers sing no more of the celebrated deeds once the garland withers. We witness everyone and everything coming to stillness in Death’s kingdom. The word ‘victor-victim’ refers to all the conquerors, emperors, and victors who are victims of Death. The victor-victims bleed and finally lie dead in their cold tomb. Though all turns to nothing, the only thing, which can bloom and spread fragrance, is the actions and good deeds of people who had led a just life. 

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.

The only thing which stands the test  of time is the deeds of selflessness and service to fellow beings. Thus, this poem has a moralising tone and shows the omnipotence of death.