O Captain, My Captain
By Walt
Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful
trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack,
the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady
keel,
the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise
up and hear the bells; Rise up- for you the flag is flung- for
you the bugle
trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd
wreaths- for you the shores
a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying
mass, their eager faces turning;
Here
Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the
deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer,
his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my
arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and
sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful
trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O
bells!
But I with mournful
tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.