O Captain My Captain ! (Poem from Dead Poet's Society)
Oh Captain My Captain ! But I, with
mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O C
APTAIN! 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.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.