Whispers of Heavenly Death -- Walt Whitman (1868)

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 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 disappering.

Some parturition, rather— some solemn, immortal birth:

On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable,

Some Soul is passing over.