O Captain! my Captain!
|
| 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. |
|
| ————————— |
Walt Whitman
March 9 1887 |
