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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Holy Sonnet X</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Death, be not proud, though some have called thee<br>Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;<br>For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,<br>Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.<br>From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,<br>Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,<br>And soonest our best men with thee do go,<br>Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.<br>Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,<br>And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;<br>And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well<br>And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?<br>One short sleep past, we wake eternally,<br>And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Donne">John Donne</a></strong></div>

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