The Funeral
By John Donne
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm *foreshadows that he has
Nor question much no significant other
That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; *symbol of a funeral
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
For 'tis my outward soul, *metaphor
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. * it will preserve him
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, *Whate’er reflects her fickleness
For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
If into other hands these relics came; *he wants to spare others from suffering
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. *anaphora
This poem was written in an era during which there was much curiosity
surrounding death and the afterlife. Further to this John Donne was a
Metaphysical poet and such poets had a fascination with, amongst other
things, religion, death and the afterlife.
By John Donne
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm *foreshadows that he has
Nor question much no significant other
That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; *symbol of a funeral
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
For 'tis my outward soul, *metaphor
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. * it will preserve him
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, *Whate’er reflects her fickleness
For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
If into other hands these relics came; *he wants to spare others from suffering
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. *anaphora
This poem was written in an era during which there was much curiosity
surrounding death and the afterlife. Further to this John Donne was a
Metaphysical poet and such poets had a fascination with, amongst other
things, religion, death and the afterlife.
