Death, Scarcely Need I Trouble Thee

SUCH peace is on the great pine wood,
Such moonlight on the sea,
Such running rhythms on the night
That frontiers cease to be.
The flesh no longer surface has,
Wind cleanses it as air,
It feels like wings, it has no pull,
Light shines through everywhere.
There is no place for sin to hide,
No place by pain controlled,
Nothing is there that hate can touch,
Nothing that love can hold.
I measure by the straight pine tree,
Lifting my two hands high,
Till brushing past the topmost plume
They cup beneath the sky.
Facing the shore I spread wide arms
That lengthen without end,
The ocean rolls against my breast,
Nor does my being bend.
I orb them and they ring the moon,
Night star and star of day,
And every other globèd thing
God made to light the way.
Death, scarcely need I trouble thee —
So close my Future lies,
So vast a confirmation speaks
In wind and sea and skies.