The speaker seems to be stuck in a low, exhausted moment, shut away in a cold room while life goes on elsewhere. The title, with its image of dying of thirst beside a fountain, hints at the problem: something needed is close at hand, yet out of reach. The poem never says what, but the speaker talks to a "you" and mentions arguing, so a strained relationship may be part of it.
The lines are broken and halting, as if thoughts keep trailing off. Enthusiasms "vanish," books have been used up in argument, and the work feels like "too much." The speaker has "no energy" even to shape things. Then the focus drifts outward to a darkening sky, grey snow, and the sounds of cooking and plates, the ordinary warmth of other people's lives heard from a distance. That contrast sharpens the loneliness. The last two lines are blunt and plain: "this room is cold / and i'm in trouble." The mood is tired, isolated, and quietly anxious.