The poem opens with a strange comparison: words love quiet the way an office loves a clock, or horses love the evening. In each case something thrives in a particular setting. A clock is most noticeable in a hushed office, and horses seem to belong to the calm of dusk. The title, "The strong, silent type," hints at a person who says little, and the poem seems to side with silence, suggesting that language does best when it isn't crowded or rushed.
The last two lines shift to a physical scene. The speaker, speaking as "we," rides through the streets easily, yet their feet are cramped in new, hard boots. That small discomfort sits against the smooth ride, and it may suggest that composure on the surface can hide strain underneath. The mood is calm and watchful, with a slight ache. The poem leaves the connection between its two halves open, so readers are free to decide what the boots stand for.