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O Captain! My Captain!

per.00076.001 (From Walt Whitman's "Drum-Taps.")

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!1

I.

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 are 
  exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 
  and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

II.

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 ribbon'd wreaths—for you the 
  shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager 
  faces turning;
O captain! dear father! This arm I push beneath you; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.

III.

My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 
  still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 
  will:
But the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, 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 silent tread, Walk the spot my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

Notes

1. This poem was reprinted in Sequel to Drum-Taps (1865); with revision in Passage to India (1871, 1876); and finally in "Drum-Taps," Leaves of Grass (1881–82). [back]

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