Whispers of Heavenly Death

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from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXX. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH - by Walt Whitman.

  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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