Move him into the sun Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown Always it woke him even in France Until this morning and this snow If anything might rouse him now This kind old sun will know Think how it wakes the seeds Woke once the clays of a cold star Are limbs so dear achieved are sides Full-nerved still warm too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break Earth's sleep at all? Use the lines above to answer this question; The theme of the poem is
The speaker describes the futility of life with death as an inevitable factor.