Walt Whitman

Whispers of Heavenly Death

WHISPERS of heavenly death, murmur’d I hear; Labial gossip of night—sibilant chorals; Footsteps gently ascending—mystical breezes, wafted soft and low; Ripples of unseen rivers—tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing; (Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?) I see, just see, skyward, great cloud-masses; Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing; With, at times, a half-dimm’d, sadden’d, far-off star, Appearing and disappearing. (Some parturition, rather—some solemn, immortal birth: On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable, Some Soul is passing over.)

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