Poetry Archives

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.)