Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee <br />Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; <br />For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow <br />Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. <br />From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be, <br />Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low <br />And soonest our best men with thee do go, <br />Rest of their bones and soul's delivery. <br />Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men <br />And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell, <br />And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well <br />And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ? <br />One short sleep past, we wake eternally, <br />And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy-sonnet-x-death-be-not-proud/
