Death, for all thy grasping stealth

    DEATH, for all thy grasping stealth, 
    Thou dost convey 
    Lands to us of broadest wealth,  

    That stretch away 
    Where the sunshine hath no foil, 
    Past the verge of our dark soil, 
    Past the rim where clouds uncoil. 

    Mourners, whom thine avarice dooms. 

    Once given a space 
    In thy kingdom past the tombs, 

    With open face 
    See the smallness of our skies. 
    Large, until a mortal dies 
    And shrinks them to created size, 

    O the freedom, that doth spread, 

    When life is shown 
    The great countries that the dead 

    Have open thrown ; 
    Where at our best leisure, we 
    With a spirit may walk free 
    From terrestrial poverty.