The poem reads like a small scene from a duel that never quite happens. Two women kiss the blades they carry, a gesture that turns weapons into something tender, almost ceremonial. The speaker responds by dropping his rapier. It's a quiet surrender, and it doesn't seem to cost him anything. He seems relieved to put it down.
After that, the mood loosens. The speaker and the others simply walk up and down the town, aimless and unhurried. The title places us in the Hague, though the poem gives us no more detail about the place than the doors themselves. The last line is the most striking: the moon appears in every doorway. Judging by the imagery, the night has become gently magical, with the same light repeated again and again along the street.
The speaker feels disarmed in every sense: playful, relaxed, a little enchanted. The overall mood is dreamlike and calm, as if a threat has dissolved into a lovely evening walk.