Three short lines, and a surprising turn. The poem begins with a wide, quiet scene: ships at morning, the kind of view a harbor offers. Then the speaker's attention narrows sharply. Instead of the horizon or the water, he notices his wife's nose.
That shift is the heart of the poem. It's funny, but it's also tender. The nose is a small, ordinary, slightly odd detail, and the speaker's noticing it suggests the kind of attention that comes from long familiarity. You don't study someone's nose unless you're close to them and relaxed in their company. The phrase "I take notice of" makes it sound almost formal, as if this were a discovery, which adds gentle humor.
The mood is calm and warm. The poem hints, judging by the title and the opening image, that the ships and the nose belong to the same moment, so the vast scene and the intimate detail sit side by side. Love, it implies, lives in small things as much as in grand views.