Oooh, but you can't forget Holy Sonnet 10:

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.


This is the one poem of Donne's that just makes my jaw drop. I think it's fascinating to watch him struggle with fear of death and finally overcome it. This was used to great effect in the play "W;t" (I highly recommend it; the HBO made-for-TV version is much better than just reading the play, IMO), which may be why I'm so in love with it.


On a side note, glad to hear people appreciate the Shakespeare. :) Thanks for all your thanks!

~Chrysan"is tempted to post Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress'"themum~