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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER.
HARK, 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 resounds |
Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life |
Was 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,
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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,
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Floating and basking upon heaven's lake. |
Blow again trumpeter! and for my sensuous eyes, |
Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world. |
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What charm thy music works! thou makest pass before me, |
Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls, the
troubadours are singing,
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Arm'd knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the
holy Graal;
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I see the tournament, I see the contestants incased in heavy
armor seated on stately champing horses,
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I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel; |
I see the Crusaders' tumultuous armies—hark, how the cymbals
clang,
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Lo, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high. |
Blow again trumpeter! and for thy theme, |
Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting, |
Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang, |
The heart of man and woman all for love, |
No other theme but love—knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. |
O how the immortal phantoms crowd around me! |
I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames
that heat the world,
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The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers, |
So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark, and nigh to
death;
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Love, that is all the earth to lovers—love, that mocks time and
space,
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Love, that is day and night—love, that is sun and moon and stars, |
Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume, |
No other words but words of love, no other thought but love. |
Blow again trumpeter—conjure war's alarums. |
Swift to thy spell a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls, |
Lo, where the arm'd men hasten—lo, mid the clouds of dust the
glint of bayonets,
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I see the grime-faced cannoneers, I mark the rosy flash amid the
smoke, I hear the cracking of the guns;
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Nor war alone—thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every
sight of fear,
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The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder—I hear the cries
for help!
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I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck
the terrible tableaus.
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O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, |
Thou melt'st my heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, chan-
gest them at will;
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And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me, |
Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope, |
I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the
whole earth,
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I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it
becomes all mine,
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Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled
feuds and hatreds,
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Utter defeat upon me weighs—all lost—the foe victorious, |
(Yet 'mid the ruins Pride colossal stands unshaken to the last, |
Endurance, resolution to the last.) |
Now trumpeter for thy close, |
Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, |
Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, |
Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future, |
Give me for once its prophecy and joy. |
O glad, exulting, culminating song! |
A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes, |
Marches of victory—man disenthral'd—the conqueror at last, |
Hymns to the universal God from universal man—all joy! |
A reborn race appears—a perfect world, all joy! |
Women and men in wisdom innocence and health—all joy! |
Riotous laughing bacchanals fill'd with joy! |
War, sorrow, suffering gone—the rank earth purged—nothing
but joy left!
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The ocean fill'd with joy—the atmosphere all joy! |
Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the ecstasy of life! |
Enough to merely be! enough to breathe! |
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