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LITTLE BELLS LAST NIGHT.
BY WALT WHITMAN.
War-suggesting trumpets, I heard you;
And you I heard beating, you chorus of small and
large drums;
You round-lipp'd cannons!—you I heard, thunder-
cracking, saluting the frigate from France;
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;
Lady! you, too, I heard, as with white arms in your
parlor, you play'd for me delicious music on the
harp;
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.
Notes
1. Revised as "I Heard You Solemn Sweet Pipes of the Organ" in Sequel to Drum-Taps (1865–66). [back]