DEATH BE NOT PROUD

                                 [Poem]
                            DEATH BE NOT PROUD

                             TEXT OF THE POEM

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 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 charm can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
Our short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
                                               -John Donne