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 souls’ delievery.
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 they stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
JOHN DONNE (1572-1631)
«0 CommentsNovember 13, MMV»
You've arrived at the homepage of Stephen Stewart. The archive is available here for those who want it. This site is happily hosted by Dreamhost. Click for more?
More!? OK then, but I can't help feeling that this will be a disappointment to you.
I work as a web designer in Belfast, and I live by the sea in a shoe. You can see me here, doing my livejournal pose as idoru called it. If you need to you can email me at carisenda -at- gmail -dot- com.