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 bleeeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
But O heart! heart! heart!
O 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 the boquets 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 Cpatain 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.
by Walt Whitman