John Donne

(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631 / London, England)

Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud - Poem by John Donne

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.

Comments about Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud by John Donne

  • (5/6/2018 12:31:00 AM)

    Best poem ever (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • (1/8/2018 2:17:00 AM)

    Add a comment.superb (Report) Reply

  • (12/26/2017 9:23:00 AM)

    wat a we abwt to learn from da poem wat exactly de poem conveyed for us (Report) Reply

  • Joshua Adeyemi (4/3/2017 12:18:00 PM)

    '.....Which yet thy picture be'
    what a poem!
    (Report) Reply

Read all 4 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: sleep, death, fate, war, sonnet

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

[Report Error]