|
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 al exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and darink; 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 yo you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreathes -- 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, in voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in whith 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) |