The speaker sits in a pit and thinks "backward as water," an odd, slippery phrase that suggests thought flowing back on itself, or running downhill to the lowest place. The pit feels like a low mood or a hidden, withdrawn spot, and from there the mind drifts through a few loose observations, each starting with "how."
The first is a bit bitter: "they" measure things and settle for "a counterfeit pleasure," as if people trade real joy for something counted and fake. Then comes a quieter, almost hopeful thought, that nature is "not quite conquered yet." The wildness hasn't been fully tamed. The last lines turn warm: music and women "give us being," as though these are what make life feel real.
The mood is solitary, a little wry, and thoughtful. The speaker seems low but not hopeless, finding small sources of meaning even from the bottom of the pit.