The speaker is looking back with a jolt of recognition. The title, "Double take," fits: he has just noticed something he used to look straight past. He confesses that he "did not see" the home he made, or even the home he simply sat in. What he missed was ordinary and close: a pair of gloves, a pair of stockings, and what he calls "an art, her gift." The "her" suggests a woman whose quiet, practical care shaped his life, though the poem doesn't say exactly who she is.
The mood is tender and regretful, but not bitter. The opening plea, "O my fat snow, turn my great neglect to joy," is a strange, affectionate address, as if the snow's softness and plenty might cover over his guilt and let gratitude grow. The trailing dots at the end leave the thought unfinished, as though he is still taking in what her small gifts really meant.