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Search : of captain, my captain!
Section : Commentary
Work title : Faces

5 results

Leaves of Grass

  • Date: 1882–1883
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN! O Captain, my Captain!

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.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse

Exult O shores, and ring O bells, But I with mournful tread Walk the deck my Captain lies, To analyze

The New Poets

  • Date: 19 May 1860
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

by the indolent waves, I am exposed, cut by bitter and poisoned hail Steeped amid honeyed morphine , my

darkness Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking—preparations to pass to the one we had conquered— The captain

The Poetry of Democracy: Walt Whitman

  • Date: July 1871
  • Creator(s): Dowden, Edward
Text:

bit of pathos—indubitably human—in my eye, confess now am I not a man and a brother?"

place, with my own day, here."

my dwell- dwelling .)"

'O the life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh.'

my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

Annotations Text:

my South!O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

Walt Whitman's Claim to Be Considered a Great Poet

  • Date: 26 November 1881
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.

My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!

woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my

lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.

Walt Whitman

  • Date: 2 December 1866
  • Creator(s): O'Connor, William Douglas
Text:

Phantoms welcome, divine and tender, Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions; Follow me

Perfume therefore my chant, O Love! immortal Love!

For that we live, my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.

the sisters Death and Might, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world. … For my

where he lies, white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my

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