The speaker talks to their own bed as if it were a faithful friend, and says goodbye to it. The bed has witnessed everything: the dreaming, the planning, and an obsessive love. A name is scratched into it "in madness of love," and a bloodstain remains from an act of self-harm, done in the hope of being loved more. The title suggests the speaker may be dying, though the poem never says so outright, so that reading is an inference.
What the speaker feels is a tangle of tenderness, regret and weary generosity. They ask the bed to keep their secrets, and to admit only that they once lay there, not that they "lost" themselves on its posts. They even wish the bed well with future sleepers, "worthy more than me." The closing toast is oddly gentle, almost cheerful. The mood is intimate and sad, with a quiet, bitter humor underneath, as if the speaker has made peace with a pain they never managed to share with anyone but the bed.