A bird's call keeps returning in this poem, and the repetition is the whole experience. The line "You hear this calling. A bird" comes back again and again, like a refrain the speaker can't escape. Around it, the speaker drifts into questions: what sign can I give myself, and what is the night to a bird that calls into it?
The mood is hypnotic and a little lonely. The speaker begins by wanting to speak only to themselves, then shifts to listening, as if listening hard enough could replace talking. By the end, the voice "falls off" and is "found dumb," and the speaker says they have lost their voice "for want of myself." The poem seems to suggest that the bird's insistent calling has swallowed the speaker's own voice, or that losing a sense of self leaves nothing to say. The title hints at many voices crowding in, yet the poem ends with one sound, repeated, and a silence beside it.