What can you be? Death! you sound much more
Profound and wiser, than you will ever
Be on this side of living or the other:
Death, I shall name you are least spoken of
Among genteel or rude folks, What’s it?
You hold no part of continents where life
May set foot and claim neither for fame nor
for light,-it casts no farther than dead wall.
If thou be one what avails my life to fight
A dead weight that is better cast aside?
Death I shall name you are least spoken of
And get on with precious joy of life’s savor.
Death is least of the heartaches that I need
While life has with heat of love enow for now.
John Donne original:
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,/
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
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