The speaker wonders what kind of gardener they are. The opening question compares gardening to two ways of handling money: a banker raising it, or a rope-maker's daughter quietly saving it. One suggests ambition and growth, the other thrift and patience. The speaker doesn't choose, which makes the question feel genuine rather than rhetorical.
The middle lines turn plain and practical. Tilling, watering, and good weather coming and going are the rhythm of the work. Then comes an admission: sometimes the speaker is "at a loss." Instead of a clear answer, the evening corn tells "odd stories." The final stanza listens to that rustling, noisy crop and notes how it lives by "borrowing everything," from soil, rain, and sun.
The mood is quiet, wry, and a little humble. The money language seems to give way to something gentler: the speaker stops trying to measure the garden and starts listening to it. Everything, the poem hints, is on loan, the gardener included.