Arthur Stringer’s speaker addresses a woman he claims no longer moves him. He insists that if he has grown tired of her, the fault is partly his, but he also hints at deeper reasons: grief, danger, and other, kinder lovers have left him too worn down to feel much. She remains lovely, yet he tells her flatly that nothing she does can now hurt or delight him.
That apparent coldness collapses in the final lines. Remembering that she once dismissed three tears as enough to float her soul, he admits he would give everything left in his life to know and show her love, and to feel her kiss again. The mood is weary and bitter, but also aching with unresolved desire.