The poem moves through three small scenes that don't quite explain one another. First comes water arriving in a garden, described as a fine coat trimmed with lace, so rain or dew seems dressed up like something delicate and precious. Then the mood shifts to a night of fire, where every door in the street is "dancing with light." The image is beautiful, but it is also unsettling, since the same glow could mean celebration or danger.
The last stanza turns more personal. The world becomes "an old wife / not seen since the wedding," which suggests we promised ourselves to nature and then drifted away from it. The final lines hint at a loss of intimacy: we make a country into a "cot," a small, temporary place to lie, rather than a bed.
The speaker sounds quietly attentive and a little regretful. The mood is gentle and glowing on the surface, with a thread of unease underneath, as if care for the world has been neglected.