The poem opens with a calm, almost serene claim: "All is perfect." But the lines that follow quietly undercut it. The speaker is "engrossed in time and chance," caught up in the passing of hours and the randomness of life, and the result is despair. He even barks at the clock, as if time were something that could be scolded like a noisy neighbour or a dog.
What makes the poem interesting is that these two feelings sit side by side. Perfection and despair aren't presented as opposites; the speaker seems to hold both at once. Maybe the world is fine as it is, and that is exactly what makes his frustration feel so small and so human.
The ending is brief and tired: he writes "late and low." The phrase suggests both the hour and his mood, writing in the dark, in a subdued voice. The overall mood is wry, quiet, and a little weary, with a hint of dark humour in the barking.