In “Nonentity,” D. H. Lawrence gives us a speaker who is weary of being himself. Lying outside at night, he feels his own body blur into the landscape: starlight falls on his chest as if it were a pool, wind laps ripples across him, and grass at his feet seems to run through him like water in a brook. These images are quiet and almost hypnotic, mixing tenderness with a faint eeriness.
The speaker is not simply enjoying nature; he wants to surrender to it. He says it is sweet “to be all these things, not to be / Any more myself.” The title points to that wish—not death exactly, but a release from the weight of identity. The mood is one of peaceful longing, a desire to dissolve into the night and no longer feel like a separate, tired self.