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, Gives out to no one’s ears but mine, but freely gives to mine, That I may thee translate.