One of its overriding themes is the fundamental sameness of people's lives. As we go through life, people "reap[] their same"—they do the same things over and over again, the same things that everyone else is doing. They don't care about the people around them; they are "busy," and the comings and goings of others' lives (and deaths) have little impact upon them. The seasons progress—"summer autumn winter spring"—and we all simply continue onward, doing the same things and caring mainly about our own concerns.

The counter to this, of course (and this is really a positive message) is that the things that are important to us are enough to sustain us, even if they seem unimpressive to others. This theme of quotidian, unremarkable, and yet powerful love permeates the poem. The image of anyone's death, wherein "noone stooped to kiss his face," is particularly poignant: while the naming conventions suggest that nobody cares much about anyone, noone certainly cares deeply about her own anyone. As her ordinary life has gone on, she "loved him more and more," even while nobody else paid any attention to them. Their lives were not interesting, but they were fulfilling to them. They simply went on; they "slept their dream" and, in the end, were buried side by side, of no note to anyone but themselves. But, the poem seems to suggest, isn't this simply the nature of things? Our own lives and loves matter enormously to us, and sometimes, that is all we need out of an ordinary life.