“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
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,
Comma.
Death thou shalt die"
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