The vine on the trellis Weaves under and over, Under and over, weaves, Over and under— To the constant frame the ever inconstant wonder, Looseness of leaves And cling of the tendril twining, O intricate! O rare! Even space, even air, Part of the order and becomingness, Blossom as grace-note, all, Whether moving or still, So perfectly designed That the sight is the sound, No more and no less, Beautiful, musical.
A vine climbing a trellis is the whole subject here, and Humphries watches it with open delight. The opening lines mimic the plant's movement: "under and over, / Under and over, weaves, / Over and under," the phrase flipping back and forth like a thread through cloth. The speaker sees a contrast between the "constant frame" of the trellis and the "ever inconstant wonder" of the leaves and curling tendrils, a fixed structure with something loose and alive growing across it.
What the speaker feels is simple admiration, almost a gasp: "O intricate! O rare!" Even the empty spaces and the air around the plant seem to belong to the pattern, and blossoms are like grace notes in a piece of music. The last lines join the two senses: the sight *is* the sound. Looking at the vine and hearing music become one experience. The mood is quiet, appreciative, and gently joyful, a moment of noticing how ordinary things can feel perfectly arranged.