The poem looks at a closed door and finds something unsettling in how ordinary it is. The door is "square / and blind," a plain barrier with no window, and the speaker pays attention to what lies behind it: "the air / of office or lodgings," the stale, settled feeling of rooms made for work or for renting. These are places built for routine, not for wanting anything.
The central idea comes near the end. Buildings like these "take a view of desire / and turn it into order." Something open and longing, like a view, gets boxed in and made tidy. The speaker doesn't celebrate that tidiness. Calling it "so bitter / a house" suggests that order has a cost, and that living inside it tastes sour.
The mood is cool, restrained and a little oppressive. The short lines and the stress on squareness and blindness make the poem feel tight, as if the words themselves are walled in. The speaker seems wistful more than angry, quietly mourning what gets lost.