The speaker addresses the “Spirit of Delight,” a personified joy that has fled him for many weary days and nights. He feels abandoned, puzzled that it shuns those who truly need it while flocking to the carefree. Like a lizard scared by a trembling leaf, this spirit is dismayed by sorrow—even grief’s sighs reproach it for staying away, and it refuses to listen. Knowing pity will never lure it back, he tries a craftier approach: setting his mournful song to a cheerful rhythm, hoping pleasure might ground its “cruel wings” and make it stay.
He then lists everything he loves—fresh leaves, starry nights, autumn mists, snow, waves, storms—and realizes the Spirit loves these too, but doesn’t love them any less for possessing them. He craves quiet solitude and wise companionship, finding little difference between his own affections and the Spirit’s. Finally, he confesses he loves Love itself, even though it is winged and fleeting, and above all he loves this Spirit, which is both love and life. The poem ends with a tender, urgent plea: “Oh, come, / Make once more my heart thy home.” The mood blends raw yearning with a playful, almost teasing hope that delight might be charmed into returning.