When my computer arrives in Madrid, I think I will finally finish setting Donne’s poem to music. I am amazed how frequently it comes to mind and soothes me given that I ultimately do not believe the sentiments in it at all. Perhaps it is merely the extraordinary majesty of the sound of the poem that gives some credence to the aims of immortality expressed in it.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou thinkst 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 souls’ delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppie or charmes can make us sleep as well,
And better then thy stroak; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
I have been looking for a song I heard recently, it only uses piano for accompaniement, and the beginning starts with a woman reciting the poem “Death be not proud”, I can’t for the life of me remember who it was by, you wouldn’t happen to know, would you?