Walt Whitman: Poems

I heard you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I passed

the church;

Winds of autumn!--as I walked the woods at dusk, I heard your

long-stretched sighs, up above, so mournful;

I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera--I heard the

soprano in the midst of the quartette singing.

--Heart of my love! you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the

wrists around my head;

Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night

under my ear.