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.//