The poem opens in the middle of a conversation about war and about people who beg in the streets. What stands out is what they ask for. It isn't money but time, a chance to enjoy the world. That small twist makes their poverty feel like something bigger: a loss of ordinary life, of a moment to simply look around and be alive.
The speaker and their companion seem to hear these pleas as a kind of sea, one that calls to them "like a contrary sea," pulling against the direction they're going. Then comes the quiet, unsettling ending: for days, they hear nothing. The title suggests the answer. Surf is a constant, rushing noise, and it can wash everything else out.
The mood is hushed and uneasy. The speaker doesn't announce guilt, but the silence at the end suggests it. Having heard the plea, they let it fade, and the poem leaves us noticing how easily that happens.