Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so:
For those who thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much more pleasure than from thee must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go---
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt 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 (alt.)