The poem begins with joy, but a restless, unstable kind. It flashes up like a fire or a wren, then widens into an ocean that is both mortal and "groundless," with nothing solid beneath it. From there the speaker turns uneasy. Asking which world is "in error" and "when can I have it," they seem torn between the world as it is and a better one they long for.
The middle of the poem wonders whether writing is worth the trouble. The speaker thinks about abandoning "the business of words" and drifting off on an "accidental sail." Then comes a bleak image: ash is the only fruit that would last, as if everything we make ends up burnt. The ending is wry and a little defiant. The speaker tallies their "profits" in a war against their own "green old heart," a phrase that sets youth and age side by side. The mood is wistful and restless, with joy and weariness pulling against each other.