Whispers of Heavenly Death, 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 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.