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Public-domain poetry · from the anthology

Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud

by John Donne

Renaissance · Short · 14 linesmortality

Death, be not proud, though some have callèd 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 yet thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low 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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Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.

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