The speaker is settling in for the cold, and the poem's few lines read like a small vow of restraint. Ice is described as an "answer" to a desire "we will not grant." So the freeze outside seems to match something inside: a wish the speaker is deliberately holding back, perhaps for warmth, change, or release. The poem doesn't say what the desire is, and that gap is part of its pull.
Then the speaker acts like an animal preparing for winter. "I don new fur" and "den up" suggest wrapping up, withdrawing, and waiting. The "din" of tomorrow, the noise of what comes next, is what the speaker hides from. The title, "Imbolc," a name tied to the turn toward spring, adds a quiet irony: the season is shifting, but the speaker isn't ready to go out and meet it.
The mood is hushed, wary, and self-protective. It feels like patience, but also like a little reluctance.