Gossip is pictured here as a kind of machine that never stops running. Almost every line begins with someone saying, reporting, whispering or writing, and nobody is ever named. That vagueness is the point: rumors seem to come from everywhere and from no one. The images of a darkened sun, thick clouds and fine dust suggest that all this talk clouds the air, making it harder to see clearly.
The speaker sounds tired and a little disapproving rather than angry. The tone is flat and list-like, as if the speaker is simply recording how things are. Two lines do hint at harm: gossip "torments people to be nasty," and written reports are likely to be exaggerated when the news is bad. The last couplet is the most puzzling. It says finding the truth is hard, and that freedom is achieved through it. The poem seems to suggest that truth matters because it frees us from the fog. The mood is gloomy and heavy, with a small hint of hope at the end.