The speaker begins with a plain, stubborn rule: believe only what you can see. But the rule is tested straight away. They feel the weight of the world pressing down, yet they keep breathing, and that small fact reads as quiet endurance rather than triumph. The second stanza adds a note of unease. As the days pass, reality seems to grow "faintly," as if what the speaker trusts is slowly losing its edge.
The last stanza shifts toward calm. The speaker drifts off to a gentle breeze and wakes to willow trees at dawn. Yet the certainty from the opening has slipped, and they ask, "do I see?" The beauty of nature feels like a gift, but one they can hardly take in. The mood is hushed and dreamlike, a mix of tiredness and tender wonder, with a little hope showing through the heaviness.