The poem is a set of short, strange glimpses, like paintings seen one after another. The opening line sounds almost polite, as if the speaker is admiring something "prettily done," but then comes a blunt statement: the road cost me my wife. The poem doesn't explain how. It could mean death, separation, or a life spent travelling, and the text leaves that open.
After that the speaker turns to someone with "a mind / to understand each window," which suggests careful looking, perhaps at the scenes the title promises. The lines about the "terrestrial" being "painted as life" hint at a gap between a picture of living and living itself. Art can make things look neat while something real has been lost.
The last image is quiet and bleak: at home, people "sit up longer / before their ash." The mood is cool, restrained and sad. The speaker seems to hold grief at a distance, describing it the way you might describe a framed scene.