Death Not Be Proud Poem
By John Donne
Decease, be not proud, though some have chosen thee
Mighty and dreadful, for yard art non then;
For those whom chiliad think'st chiliad dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor withal canst yard kill me.
From rest and sleep, which only thy pictures be,
Much pleasance; then from thee much more must menstruum,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul'south delivery.
Thousand 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 ameliorate than thy stroke; why nifty'st thou then?
One short sleep by, we wake eternally
And decease shall be no more than; Death, chiliad shalt die.
Poet Bio
At that place are two John Donnes: the vivid, pleasure-seeking man-about-boondocks who, in his youth, wrote frank love poems to various women forth with satires that jeered his fellow men, and the sober, serious Dean of St. Paul's, an Anglican reverend famed for his moving sermons and profound "Holy Sonnets." Ane of the Metaphysical poets (John Dryden coined the term half a century later), Donne was known for his razor wit and his extended comparisons, likewise chosen conceits. See More By This Poet
More By This Poet
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'Tis true, 'tis twenty-four hour period, what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rising because 'tis light?
Did we lie downwards considering 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us here,
Should in...
The Good-Morrow
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we non weaned till then?
But sucked on state pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted nosotros in the 7 Sleepers' den?
'Twas and so; just this, all pleasures fancies...
More Poems about Living
if fourth dimension is queer/and retention is trans/and my hands hurt in the cold/so
there are ways to hold pain like night follows day
non knowing how tomorrow went downward.
information technology hurts like never when the always is now,
the at present that time won't permit.
at that place is no manner of tomorrow, nor shape of today
only similar always having...
Here's an Ocean Tale
My brother even so bites his nails to the quick,
but lately he'due south been assuasive them to abound.
And so much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
equally backdrop. It comes down to uncomplicated math.
The embankment belongs to none of us, regardless
of colour, or money....
More than Poems nigh Organized religion
Existence
Wake up, greet the sun, and pray.
Burn down cedar, sweet grass, sage—
sacred herbs to honor the lives we've been given,
for nosotros have been gifted these ways since the get-go of time.
Remember, when you step into the arena of your life,
recall almost...
For the Feral Splendor That Remains
sometimes I strain
...
Death Not Be Proud Poem,
Source: https://www.poetryoutloud.org/poem/holy-sonnets-death-be-not-proud/
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