Death be not proud, though some have called thee by John Donne

We want this blog to be fun to read. Occasionally, we are thus posting short literary 'snippets'. Today's 'snippet' is a poem by John Donne - Death be not proud. Enjoy!

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.

For synopsis, commentary and a discussion of the themes and language of this poem please go to
Poem analysis > Death be not proud

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