O Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman

1

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.

2

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.

3

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.