A parent speaks to a beloved child, and at first the poem sounds like a promise. The speaker wants to protect the child from harm, offer sunshine and golden sand, and guide them through storms. The refrain "my child, my dearest, my bird" works like a tender pet name, and the bird image fits the speaker's hope of keeping the child safe under a wing, then helping them fly.
Midway, the mood shifts. The speaker sits awake in an empty house, with no child to lull to sleep. The mention of "eight-year-old wits" suggests the child was young, and the final stanzas say the child is now gone: "you're lost," "I've paid the fatal cost." The poem never says exactly what happened, so we can only feel its effects. Grief, guilt, and longing pile up, and the speaker seems to wonder whether their effort to shield the child came at a price. The repeated refrain at the end, left alone, sounds like a mourner calling into silence.