DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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.
-John Donne
INTO THE WEST
'Lay down your sweet and weary head
Night is falling; you have come to journey's end
Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before
They are calling from across a distant shore
Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see all of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms, you're only sleeping
What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the Sea a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water, all souls pass
Hope fades into the world of night
Through shadows falling out of memory and time
Don't say we have come now to the end
White shores are calling, you and I will meet again
And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping
What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the Sea a pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home
And all will turn to silver glass
A light on the water, grey ships pass
Into the West.'
From the film The Return of the Kings,
Original lyric by Fran Walsh
