The speaker begins with a private wish: that the dark, old trees around him were not just a gloomy boundary but opened endlessly into the distance. He imagines stealing away into their vastness, unafraid of leaving roads and open land behind. There is something both melancholy and freeing in this—a longing to disappear into solitude, to test what he believes without distraction. He does not see why he should turn back, and he imagines those who care about him coming after him, wondering if he still loves them. His answer is quiet but firm: they would not find him changed, only more certain of the things he already thought were true. The mood is thoughtful and resolute, full of the strange attraction of going deeper into one’s own mind.
Into My Own — Summary
One of my wishes is that those dark trees, So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom, But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day Into their vastness I should steal away, Fearless of ever finding open land, Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e’er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew-- Only more sure of all I thought was true.