O Captain! My Captain!

[Moderator]

Written by Walt Whitman, 1900

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