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John Donne - Holy Sonnet X:Death be not proud
Work rating: Medium

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think`st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul`s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell`st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
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