Death Be Not Proud Applied
A day or two later, after the first
shock bravely borne, as hardly unexpected,
she sank onto the sofa in the midst
of one of the small domestic chores
that, under the agreement that they had,
they shared equitably as partners,
and she began to cry. I sat beside
her. I think I hugged her then,
but bringing poetry to bear I shared
Donne's diatribe against Death, a tirade
which may be summarised - summarise that! - that we
may rise again, wherever we are laid,
transfigured in a greater Auld Lang Syne
with old acquaintance, greeting a New Year
in which we shall not languish or repine ...
well, that's not something we went into then.
We turned back our attention to the day.
The hearth was cleaned, the fire made up again.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, David Callin would be
pleased to hear them.