I Heard You, Solemn-Sweep Pipes Of The Organ

A poem by Walt Whitman

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.