Sunday, April 08, 2007

Death be not proud

by John Donne

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

"He is not here: for he is risen."

Happy Easter!


Radioactive Jam said...

Happy Easter to you and yours, Julie!

eve said...

Loved the post, drank in every word, as usual, and I tagged you.

elasticwaistbandlady said...

Happy Easter, julie Q., and your merry band of Infidels!

John Kaiser said...

Donne is an excellent poet. Right up there with Lord Byron for me.