A quiet morning in a garden becomes a kind of concert in this short poem. The speaker hears the light itself as music, one so delicate it seems meant for "the smallest organ in the world," perhaps the inner ear, or perhaps a tiny instrument. The title, "Private space," suggests this is a moment of solitude, and the line about people being "shut out like a common tune" implies that other humans, with their ordinary noise, have been left outside.
The third stanza turns more thoughtful. The speaker imagines that even a perfect heaven might make us unhappy, which hints that paradise without this kind of attentive stillness would feel empty. The ending points toward humility: we should "give way to every creature," letting birds and insects have the stage. The garden becomes a "theater of the ear," and we are only listeners. The mood is calm, hushed, and gently reverent, with a small note of wistfulness.