The speaker feels a quiet ache of exclusion as she watches people pass her house from early morning until late at night. None of them are warm, familiar visitors; their footsteps go by her gate and continue down the winding road toward other homes and other lives. The repetition of “early, late” suggests that this waiting is constant.
Still, she is not desperate for just anyone to stop. She says she would not want random footsteps to pause at her guarded gate—she is protective of her inner life. What she wants is specific: certain footsteps she will recognize when they finally come. The mood is lonely but not hopeless, full of patient, private longing and a readiness for one particular arrival.