The speaker treats the wind as a person who has died, and the loss is felt as a personal one. The wind "drowned," a strange fate for something so tied to air, and now it lies in a grave. What the speaker misses is oddly intimate: the wind's "infinite talk at night," like a friend who kept them company in the dark, and its "cup of good air," a kind of generous offering. Calm, in other words, feels like absence rather than peace.
The last lines shift from grief to uncertainty. Without the wind, the speaker wonders how to carry out "the service of the sea." Calling themselves "a person of honor," they seem to feel a duty, perhaps like a sailor who depends on wind to move. The question is left hanging. The mood is quiet, wistful, and a little lost, with a touch of dry humor in the way the speaker takes the whole thing so seriously.