When I was in high school, I had to read a book titled "Death Be Not Proud" by John Gunther. That book touched my heart at the time. It was written by a father, who had lost his only son. I recall thinking that to lose one's child is a fate worse than death. Now, that is my fate.
In the past few months, I thought of that book. I remembered how he had a poem in there, whose first line was the same as the title of the book. I finally looked it up yesterday, and discovered this poem was from a sonnet actually. It was titled The Holy Sonnet X, and was originally written by John Dunne.
Please let me share it with you.
Death be not proud, thou some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For,those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst though kill me.
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.
This is a wonderful poem. I remember studying it, too, in high school. I'm not sure I have read it since then. Thanks for bringing it to us again.
ReplyDeleteI also read it in high school. John Gunther's book was so beautifully written. Even now, whenever I see the George Washington bridge, I recall how he wrote about his frequent journeys over the bridge to see his son.
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