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my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, The most prejudiced will not deny that that
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
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!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
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!
or "To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod," Or "Captain! My Captain!"
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have
my Captain!
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O CAPTAIN! my captain!
Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies.
Fallen cold and dead. 2 O captain! my captain!
whom we knew not before Then the great authors take him for an author And the great soldiers for a captain
O laugh when my eyes settle the land The imagery and phrasing of these lines bears some resemblance to
and dwells serenely behind it.— When out of a feast I eat bread only corn and roast potatoes fo for my
dinner, through my own voluntary choice it is very well and I much content, but if some arrogant head
inspiration . . . . the beating of my heart . . . . the passing of blood and air through my lungs.
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can- non cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries
Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's enemy's main-mast
Serene stands the little captain; He is not hurried—his voice is neither high nor low; His eyes give
The black ship, mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—but the pluck of the captain and engineers
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the cannon touched, My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cried
Only three guns were in use, One was directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two
Serene stood the little captain, He was not hurried—his voice was neither high nor low, His eyes gave
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors
My Soul Spirit was curious and sped back to the beginning, sped back returned to the times when the earth
eternally; And devise themselves to this spot place These States and this hour, Again But yet still my
My Spirit sped back to
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever united lands—my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more than
my lands are inevitably united, and made one identity, Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
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.
New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies,
freedom, futurity, In space the sporades, the scatter'd islands, the stars—on the firm earth, the lands, my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever-united lands—my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made out of a thousand diverse
New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies,
freedom, futurity, In space the sporades, the scatter'd islands, the stars—on the firm earth, the lands, my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever-united lands—my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made out of a thousand diverse
New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing me flies, suspended,
, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars —on the firm earth, the lands, my
less in myself than the whole of the Manna- hatta Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
ever united lands —my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more
Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; —Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies,
, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scatter'd islands, the stars— on the firm earth, the lands, my
thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
my lands are inevitably united, and made ONE IDENTITY; Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies,
, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars —on the firm earth, the lands, my
less in myself than the whole of the Manna- hatta Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my
my lands are inevitably united, and made ONE IDENTITY; Nativities, climates, the grass of the great
Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
in your and my name, the Present time.
Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully
To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose- colored flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous
My Spirit sped back to
first several lines of that poem (not including the line in question) were revised and published as My
"In the year 80 of the States, My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born
"Take my leaves, America! take them South, and take them North! Surround them, East and West!
"O my comrade! O you and me at last, and us two only! O to level occupations and the sexes!
If he worships any particular thing, he says it shall be "some of the spread of my own body."
One long passage commences thus: "O my body!
first poem of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass , later called "Song of Myself": "I do not trouble my
The first several lines of the notebook (not including this line) were revised and published as "My Picture-Gallery
just granting his request, with great commiseration, when an old lady from the gallery cries out "O my
single line or verse picked out here and there from the midst of his descriptions:— "Evening—me in my
room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open windows window , showing the swarm of
take one breath from my tremulous lips; Take one tear, dropped aside as I go, for thought of you, Dead
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover