 | Leaves of grass. |  |
I HEARD YOU, SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN.
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.
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.
| Leaves of grass. | |