Donne takes on death in this sonnet, and he's not afraid to pull some punches. It's more of a gentlemanly duel between Donne and the Grim Reaper than a Street Fighter Death Match, you see.
This poem has enough contradictions in it to keep a New Critic busy for a week. But let's start with the lines "For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow / Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me" (3-4). How does Donne play with different ideas of Death here?
And while we're at it, what's going on with the relationship between sleep and death in this poem? How does Donne use them to get at the similarities and differences between humans' temporary and permanent resting states?
Oh Donne, you fabulous Don of Poetry you.