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 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.
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Comments
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A brilliant punch line.
John Donne like Carl Sandberg spent a bit of time in gaol, and perhaps the experience of the time brought them closer to a quickened conception of life. Life is just a breath away from death at any given moment.
Moments pass for writers and everyone else. Writers assemble their ideas that others may or may not read and pass on too like the surfer thrugh the curl of a giant breaking wave in safety for a slice of time.
Simone Weil's Spiritual Autobiography had an awareness of the oppressivenes of some aspects of life...she said she forever bore the mark of the slave from her time as a factory work in France in the 1930(s)?. Donne had Christian faith and awaited that resurrection that probably is actual. The universe seems to be the lowest temoral imperfect materialization of a semblance of The One (ref Plotinus Enneads). Weil realized that Jesus Christ did appear. -
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