The poem begins with a small, almost dry joke: books that give careful instructions for making books. It's a loop, one thing folding back on itself, and the title, "Axe handles," seems to point the same way, since an axe handle is a tool shaped to fit the hand that uses it.
Then the tone shifts. The speaker breaks into a plea, "O make my whole study the same," asking that their life's work be as closely joined as a binding. The comparisons that follow are intimate: hand to hand, ear to listener, hope to "that old ache." That last pairing is the surprise. Hope here isn't bright or fresh; it's tied to something long-standing and sore.
The mood is quiet, earnest and a little wistful. The speaker longs for close fit and wholeness, but the poem suggests that this kind of attachment comes with some pain.