Question on: JAMB Literature - 2015

This question is based on Literary Appreciation.

Move him into the sun

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of field unsown

Always it woke him even in France

Until this morning and this snow

If anything might rouse him now

This kind of old sun will know

Think how it woke the seeds

Woke, once, the clay 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.

The poem can be described as

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