Oh Captain! My Captain!

Oh Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weathered 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 ribboned 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 anchored 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.