I don’t know if this is appropriate astrologically. But I knew a Capricorn, right out of the books. Rags to riches. Built an empire and died much too young. Saw an old picture of his today with his son. His son who saw too little of him when he was alive. His son who was there for him when he was dying. His son who has now inherited a fortune but lost all he called family.
Death’s Final Conquest by James Shirley
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands 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 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:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Neeti,
Thank you for sharing these thoughts and this poem.
This poem is very strong and sounds both very Plutonian and very Capricornian (this proves to be actually a word).
Ok if I repost a link to this in my group? Thanks for this. Edmond
Philip, you are always so kind.
Helen: I love this one.
Edmond: You are very welcome!