Lyric Poem · Peace

The Funeral

by John Donne

Reading room

1Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm

2Nor question much

3That subtle wreath of hair which crowns my arm;

4The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,

5For 'tis my outward Soul,

6Viceroy to that which then to heaven being gone

7Will leave this to control

8And keep these limbs, her Provinces, from dissolution.

9For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall

10Through every part

11Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,

12These hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art

13Have from a better brain,

14Can better do't; except she meant that I

15By this should know my pain,

16As prisoners then are manacled when they're condemned to die.

17Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me,

18For since I am

19Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry

20If into others' hands these relics came;

21As 'twas humility

22To afford to it all that a Soul can do,

23So 'tis some bravery

24That since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.

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“The Funeral” by John Donne — quilloak.com/poems/the-funeral

Quick facts

Poem: The Funeral
Poet: John Donne
Length: 24 lines
Form: Lyric Poem
Themes: Peace, Death & Loss, Love

Craft notes

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Shape: 24 lines · 3 octaves

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Full-text display is based on the committed source record and a United States term-expiry review.

Author record: John Donne1572–1631
Source record: PoetryDBThe Funeral by john-donne, PoetryDB transcription
Display decision: Full text · United States · reviewed 2026-07-18
Publication record: Not recorded in the imported source
Text fingerprint: SHA-256 508b4cdde8906888…
Editorial handling: Whitespace and stanza breaks normalized for web display; no material wording change recorded.

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Lyric Poem Peace Death & Loss Love

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