Out on an early walk, the speaker meets an old woman whose presence is immediately striking—tall, stately, with rosy cheeks that bring a little shiver of delight, like red hollyhocks blooming beside a grey wall. The faint scent of lavender around her whispers of clean linen and well-kept cupboards. You can imagine her moving through a garden, at ease among proud roses that need no fussing over. The whole impression is one of natural grace and quiet self-possession.
Later, when the speaker feels low, worrying about growing older and the loss of colour in life, she remembers this woman. The memory itself becomes a comfort. The old lady is not a figure of decline but of continued vitality—"lavender-haunted and hollyhock-gay." The mood is gentle and reassuring: age doesn’t have to be grim. It can carry its own kind of beauty, rooted in simple, sensory pleasures.