The speaker is an old diplomat, and the poem reads like a short, rueful confession. Where he was once "open" and willing to "make peace with anybody," he now feels rusted, hoarse and estranged from himself. The line "hoarseness and war come to me" suggests that his voice is failing just as conflict arrives, so the skills he relied on are wearing out when they are needed most.
The poem's most surprising turn is the admission that it "seems almost romantic / to force a leaden discourse." He recognizes something strangely appealing in grinding through heavy, dull negotiation, as though stubborn effort were its own kind of beauty. Yet the ending is a plea. He calls his own body a "carcass" and asks it to "mediate" and "restore simplicity," as if he must bargain with himself first.
The mood is tired and wry, with a quiet ache underneath. Short lines and plain words give it the feel of a man speaking half to himself, longing for a time when peace came easily.