Death be not proud

 

 

 

          

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppies or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swellst thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die

 

 





Death be not proud - John Donne