The poem's central worry is not death itself but a life that never really happens. The opening lines say it bluntly: if we haven't truly lived, our lives are just a matter of existing, and there's no point arguing our way around that. The speaker sounds tired and impatient with comforting ideas.
Rebirth and resurrection, the speaker suggests, are ways of dodging the issue. They let us avoid admitting that we spend our days afraid and busy with schemes and manipulations. In the last stanza, people shut every door and settle for a "thoughtless peace," hoping to hold death off. The irony is sharp: by closing ourselves off to protect life, we give up the very thing that makes it life.
The mood is stark and somewhat bleak. The short lines, plain words and lack of ornament make the poem feel like a flat, honest verdict rather than a gentle meditation. It leaves the reader with an uncomfortable question about whether they are living or just surviving.