The speaker feels out of place. Inside, it is autumn: a late, fading stage of life. Outside, it is spring, when everything is supposed to be beginning. The two seasons clash, and the poem's mood comes from that mismatch.
The spring it describes is oddly bleak. Grasses are "barely born," yesterday's dew has become "brown skeletons and dry brambles," and the trees and autumn colors the speaker might recognize, the elm, oak, maple, reds and oranges, are missing. Death arrives "early in this land," so even the new season seems to be dying. The speaker seems to want those missing colors to announce "the last chance for love" before a "long lone silence," which suggests a fear of ending up alone.
The closing question stays with the reader: which is worse, death itself or simply being out of step with everyone and everything around you? The tone is quiet, lonely, and a little restless.