The moon is imagined as a solitary wanderer crossing a dark, sleeping world. Freeman gives her the helpless quality of a lost lamb, roaming through a cold and soundless sky while shadowy spirits trail behind her. The speaker watches with a mixture of awe and quiet sadness, because she is entirely absorbed in her own image in the “pool of sleep” and will not notice those who follow her. That pool suggests both the sleeping earth and the dreamlike depths of the mind, making the scene feel intimate and strange.
The mood is hushed, melancholy, and a little eerie. Beauty here is lonely and fleeting: as dawn arrives, the moon pales, fades, and forgets the “astonished glory” of her reflection, leaving the night’s enchantment behind. It reads like a quiet meditation on isolation, self-absorption, and the transience of even the most beautiful moments.