Another Way of Saying

I’d been traveling,
I’d been traveling,
through woods and over fields
in the neighbourhood of Albany,
where true things lay concealed.

The blackbird that came with me,
in so strange a way pursued me
had proved the most diverting
company.

If I stopped a while to think
or to take a little drink,
he’d return to me and urge me
to continue.

At other times he’d linger
this purest of all singers,
and offer me some melody
or other;

each note floating free
with such delicacy of tone
that it pierced my heart
and elevated me,

but as night began to fall
I saw the bird no more
he that picked the secret
in my soul.

In Albany one springtime
long ago.