Walt Whitman Poems

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I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass’d the
church;
Winds of autumn!—as I walk’d the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch’d
sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera—I heard the soprano in the
midst of the quartet 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. 5

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