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O Captain! My Captain

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O Captain! My Captain 

Walt Whitman

 

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!          5

      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;   10

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,   15

          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;   20

    Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!  

      But I, with mournful tread,  

        Walk the deck my Captain lies,  

          Fallen cold and dead.