Reading this feels like walking slowly through a forest with someone who keeps stopping to point at plants. The poem is mostly a list of wildflowers: goldenrod, black cohosh, fairy bells, naked-flowered tick trefoil. Between the names, the speaker adds small observations. The goldenrod leans "this way or that." It grows as "not a mere patch / but a stand," which suggests the speaker is struck by how full and sturdy it is. The fairy bells hang "berried / under their leaves," as if the speaker has bent down to look at something half hidden.
The mood is quiet, attentive and a little playful. The speaker seems happy simply to notice and name things. The last lines add a joke. "Leaflets three" echoes the old warning about poison ivy, but the speaker says only "the name itches." The plant is harmless, and the worry is just a thought. That light touch shows a relaxed, curious mind at ease in the woods.