Funeral, The

John Donne

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
    Nor question much
That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
    For 'tis my outward soul,
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
    Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
    Through every part
    Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,
Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art
    Have from a better brain,
Can better do'it; except she meant that I
    By this should know my pain,
As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die.

Whate'er she meant by'it, bury it with me,
    For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
If into other hands these relics came;
    As 'twas humility
To afford to it all that a soul can do,
    So, 'tis some bravery,
That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

Next 10 Poems

• John Donne : Go And Catach A Falling Star
• John Donne : Good-morrow, The
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet ?
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet I: Tho Has Made Me
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet Ii: As Due By Many Titles I Resign
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet Iii: O Might Those Sighs And Tears Return Again
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet Iv: Oh My Black Soul! Now Art Thou Summoned
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet Ix: If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet V: I Am A Little World Made Cunningly
• John Donne : Holy Sonnet Vi: This Is My Play's Last Scene, Here Heavens Appoint

Previous 10 Poems

• John Donne : For Whom The Bell Tolls
• John Donne : Elegy Xviii: Love's Progress
• John Donne : Elegy Xvi: On His Mistress
• John Donne : Elegy X: The Dream
• John Donne : Elegy Viii: The Comparison
• John Donne : Elegy Vii
• John Donne : Elegy Vi
• John Donne : Elegy V: His Picture
• John Donne : Elegy Ix: The Autumnal
• John Donne : Elegy Iv: The Perfume