Walt  Whitman

Little  Bells  Last  Night

                               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.

New York Leader   October 12, 1861

All around, during the Civil War, Whitman and the citizens of the southern and eastern States heard the horrific noises of carnage and the preparations for battle: trumpets, gunshots, cannons, marching feet, men moaning in agony, mothers and wives crying, horses, wagons and armies on the move. In this delicate little poem, Walt Whitman emphasizes the sweet sounds of life and of music, and the secret, tender and sacred rhythms of the body and being of love, still strong and pulsing with promise.