 | |
| JOHN DONNE |
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 doe 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 then thy stroke; why swell'st* thou then?
One
short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And
death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
*Rest
... Delivery - death is a rest for the body and liberation (delivery) for the
soul
*poppy
- opium was used as a sedative
*charms
- magic spells
*swell'st
- puff up with pride
Photo Courtesy:
www.independent.co.uk
Written
By: John Donne, From HOLY SONNETS [1633]
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Oluwabamiyo G. Fatilewa is
a law graduate of the prestigious University of Ibadan. He is a freelance
writer, a blogger and a realist.
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