The speaker notices the small, bright phenomena of an April day: primroses shining like gold coins among old copper leaves, skylarks rising as dark specks against sunny skies, a woodpecker tapping out a beat, a cuckoo’s modest two-note call, and a tiny brook bordered with violets and strawberry blossoms. The pleasures are deliberately humble—nothing grand or dramatic—but together they build a world of quiet liveliness.
The turn comes in the final lines, when stepping outside on such a day makes all his worry vanish. His care disappears like heavy smoke from green wood catching flame, filling the grate with gold. The mood is comforting and gently euphoric: nature’s ordinary spring details are enough to burn away gloom and leave something warm and bright behind.