Anna Wickham’s speaker watches a boy absorbed in something his hands are doing, his lips parted slightly in concentration. Rather than just noticing a small, ordinary detail, the speaker reads it as something enchanted. The open mouth is a red arch, a ceremonial gate through which gracious Loves could pass. His pale, white body seems too lovely to be merely human, so the speaker imagines it as a home for a whole fairy population.
The tone is tender and full of wonder, even a little reverent. There is no heavy argument; the poem simply lingers on a moment and turns a child’s absorbed expression into something delicate, pure, and faintly magical. The mood is intimate and hushed, as if the speaker is almost afraid to disturb the boy’s quiet world.