The poem begins with a strange, quiet image: the speaker is woken not by a sound but by "a noise of the light." Morning arrives almost like a signal, something that gets you up before you're ready. The title, "Woke," plays on that double meaning. It's literal waking, but also the sense of becoming aware.
The poem then jumps to a comparison. Waking feels like the moment when half the people begin to "see through / the folly of our masters." The speaker links a private moment to a shared, public one: a crowd of people realizing, more or less together, that those in charge are foolish.
The ending is the surprise. Instead of shouting or revolt, "we bow without speaking / one to another." The mood is hushed and uneasy. There's a spark of clarity, but also silence and a kind of acknowledgment passed between people. The speaker seems to feel recognition, maybe solidarity, but also restraint, as if seeing the truth doesn't yet mean being able to say it.