The speaker walks alone down the Old York Road at dusk in spring, just as the bells of St. John’s begin to ring. The setting is beautiful but weighted with loneliness: church windows glow like half-blown flowers, a pool gleams like a thin scrap of gold, and a white wild cherry tree stands out, solitary and bright. The road is empty except for two lovers passing by, and the graveyard grass deepens the sense of separation.
That glimpse of the lovers, together with the tree’s whiteness, carries the speaker back to an early love that has faded. As the bell rings out of the pale sky, it seems to stir old, lost things until the speaker is overwhelmed, feeling close to weeping or death. The mood is wistful, tender, and quietly heartbroken — spring loveliness and grief folded together.