Thus on the northern coast, In the echo of teamsters’ calls and the clinking chains, and the music of choppers’ axes, The falling trunk and limbs, the crash, the muffled shriek, the groan, Such words combined from the redwood-tree, as of voices ecstatic, ancient and rustling, The century-lasting, unseen dryads, singing, withdrawing, All their recesses of forests and mountains leaving, From the Cascade range to the Wahsatch, or Idaho far, or Utah, To the deities of the modern henceforth yielding, The chorus and indications, the vistas of coming humanity, the settlements, features all, In the Mendocino woods I caught.