The speaker stands before a large tree and, strangely, hears only that: a tree. Yet the next lines turn this quiet moment into something crowded. The voices that have followed the speaker through life seem to gather in the branches, as if the tree were a place where memory and inner chatter finally have somewhere to perch.
The phrase "an oratory of disorder" is the poem's center. It suggests a noisy, tangled sound, like leaves and birds and half-remembered speech all at once, and yet it is also a kind of sermon or performance. Strangely, this mess feels hopeful rather than threatening. The final image, an idle boy studying our faces to work out who we might become, adds a gentle, curious note. The future seems to look back at us, unhurried and watching.
The mood is calm, attentive, and quietly wondering. Noise becomes comfort, and the speaker seems at peace with it.