惠特曼(Walt Whitman)I Hear Thee Trumpetermusic by 约翰 Mitchellwords by 惠特曼(Walt Whitman)Jeffrey Stackhouse, bass-baritoneHARK, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician,Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes,Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost.Come nearer bodiless one, haply in thee resoundsSome dead composer, haply thy pensive lifeWas fill'd with aspirations high, unform'd ideals,Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging,That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing,Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine,That I may thee translate.Blow trumpeter free and clear, I follow thee,While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene,The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdraw,A holy calm descends like dew upon me,I walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise,I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses;Thy song expands my numb'd imbonded spirit, thou freest,launchest me Floating and basking upon heaven's lake.
