Here, the speaker is calling out to joy as if it were a person who has wandered off. It has been a long time since they saw it, and they keep asking the same anxious question: where are you, and in which sojourn, which temporary resting place, have you stopped?
The speaker feels lonely and worn down, though they never say it outright. Instead, they describe life as "diffused sunlight" on a winter day that feels "oppressed." That light is dim and weak, with no warmth or sharp edges. Days seem to blur together under a heavy sky.
The flute is the most tender image. Joy is something the speaker once heard, a kind of music, and now there is silence. Repeating the question at the end, almost word for word, makes it sound like a plea that gets no answer. The mood is quiet, wistful and a little hopeless, though the speaker's persistent calling suggests they have not given up on joy returning.