Holy Sonnet X

John Donne 1572 (London) – 1631 (London)



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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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

38 sec read
147

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABBAABBACDDCAE
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 663
Words 125
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 14

John Donne

John Donne was an English poet, satirist, lawyer and a cleric in the Church of England. more…

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