To the tally of my soul

To the tally of my soul,

Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,

With pure deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,

Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,

And I with my comrades there in the night.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,

As to long panoramas of visions.