Death Be Not Proud

Death Be Not Proud
By John Donne


Death be not proud, though some have called
thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost
overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
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.

I happened to read this poem which reminded me of a dear professor _ Ms Shamsavary_who helped me find the true path toward love and eternity.
Who do you remember when you read it?