The speaker names the things that make up a cherished life: an old, quiet house a little outside town, lavender alive with small bees, bright blue larkspur, sharp mint, worn books, and a green-and-white jug. Sunday visits from old friends are part of this too—they talk about the new shop, visitors, and the wind that brought the apples down. The mood is warm and content, rooted in small sensory pleasures and easy companionship. But after the friends leave and dusk comes on like distant music, the poem turns inward. The final lines reveal the truest possessions: the people who have been loved and lost, “my early love—and you—and you,” drifting gently through the evening. The feeling is bittersweet—grateful for a quiet, tangible life, yet aware that memory and absence are just as present as lavender and books.
Possessions — Summary
An old and quiet house set down A windy field or two from town.
And a great clump of lavender, All day with cross, small bees astir.
Larkspur, hot-blue as with a sting; And mint, so brief and sharp a thing.
Tall, well-thumbed books upon a shelf; A green, white-flowered jug of delf.
Old friends, who from the village walk On Sunday afternoons, to talk
Of the new shop; the guests from town; The wind that blew the apples down.
They go; the dusk comes from afar, Like music blown from out a star.
Those Others drift across the dew; My early love — and you — and you!