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O Captain! My Captain!


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O Captain! my Captain! our feal 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.

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