Holy Sonnet

John Donne
Holy Sonnet X:

Death, be not proud, though some have callèd 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 yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
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.

My deep love for John Donne's Holy Sonnet's was born in my 1st year English class. There is a beauty in the way he describes the deepest fears of the human soul and yet at the same time is able to bring light out of the darkness of these same fears. My love for this poem in particular occured when I watched the film addapted play "Wit". In the play a Donne Scholar is diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer and chooses to treat it quite intensely. This poem echos throughout her journey in the film and creates some very personal haunting moments. I can hear the last two lines ringing in my ears as clear as ever today.

One short sleep past,
we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more;
death,
thou
shalt
die.

Skakes