Dressed up as a column of lost-and-found notices, these four short lines read like a small puzzle. Each one starts with "Found," the way a newspaper ad would, but what turns up is strange. A good view is found in a book, not out in the world. A Ford is found, and the speaker says it is "our own," as if it were a surprise to find something already theirs.
The mood shifts in the second entry: "no answer at all. Rope." The flat, blunt word "Rope" hints at something grim, perhaps despair, though the poem never says so outright. That is my reading of it, based on the abrupt tone. After that, "great odds" and "a fine thing" sound almost cheerful, but they come out of the shadow of the rope, so the cheer feels uneasy or ironic.
The speaker seems wry and guarded, saying a great deal by saying very little. The poem balances dry humor against something heavier, leaving the reader to fill in the gaps.