The speaker looks back at his life, comparing what he’s lost with what he’s gained, what he’s missed with what he’s reached, and he realizes there’s little to be proud of. He’s painfully aware of the days that slipped by in idleness, and of the good intentions that, like badly aimed arrows, fell short or were knocked off course. It’s a moment of quiet, unflinching self-reflection—no excuses, just a clear-eyed sadness over time misspent.
But then he asks a turning question: who can dare to measure loss and gain in that way? A defeat might actually be a hidden victory, he suggests, and the lowest ebb of the tide is right where the water begins to flow back. With that image, the mood shifts from regret to something warmer, more patient. The speaker doesn’t ignore the losses, but he lets in the possibility that they’re part of a larger pattern, one in which even our emptiest moments can signal a new beginning.