The poem is a short, strange moment of listening. The speaker hears an old wood talk, and what it says is a kind of verdict: nowhere, no place and no part of nature, was ever enough to keep out disquiet or stop people from counting up their goods. Worry and the habit of measuring everything in terms of what can be owned seem to follow us everywhere, even into the trees.
The title, "Sylvanian," points to the forest, and the wood feels ancient and knowing, almost like a weary elder. The phrase "fallen ear" is the most puzzling detail. It might mean an ear lying on the forest floor, or a listener who has fallen from some earlier innocence. Either way, the speaker sounds humbled rather than comforted.
The mood is quiet, cool and a little uneasy. There is no easy escape into nature here. Instead the woods hand back a hard truth, in very few words.