The title sets up the puzzle: a landlocked town whose "business" is nonetheless "going to sea." The poem never explains how that can be true, and that gap is where its charm sits. The sea seems to be something the town imagines or reaches for, rather than something it has. The odd line about God laying it out "in the absence of wine / or ships" suggests the sea is a kind of stand-in, a vast gift that fills the place where comforts and real vessels should be.
The ending turns toward people leaving. A "lead foot" setting out for France hints at heavy, hurried travel, yet it is paired with "a mind to stay longer / before they go." That tug between departing and lingering is the emotional center. The speaker sounds wry and a little wistful rather than upset, watching a place that longs for distance while holding on to home. The mood is dreamy, slightly puzzling, and gently humorous, and the poem leaves its logic loose on purpose, so the reader has to feel their way through it.