Nothing much happens in "Disquiet", and that's part of its unease. The poem gives us two scenes, both strange. In the first, pipe smoke curls around a "grizzled" horizon, as if the sky itself has gone gray and old, while grasslands grow on a "spinster's back." The land becomes a body, and a lonely, aging one, so the whole landscape feels worn and a little neglected.
The second stanza turns tense. A ragman's shed "foams and bristles" like an overheated animal, and its captor "chafes its heart." The shed seems alive, restless and angry, and someone is rubbing it raw instead of calming it.
The speaker never says "I feel uneasy," but the images do the work. Judging by the imagery, the speaker watches a quiet, faded world with something agitated underneath. The mood is uncomfortable and tightly wound, like a calm surface about to give way. The title fits: it's a feeling you can sense without being able to name its cause.