|
| 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! Leave you not the little spot, 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 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. |
| 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. |