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.
