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Search : of captain, my captain!
Work title : When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloomd
Work title : Song Of Myself

10 results

The Poetry of the Future

  • Date: 19 January 1882
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

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

Leaves of Grass

  • Date: 30 October 1881
  • Creator(s): Whitman, Walt, and Sylvester Baxter
Text:

indeed, mattered little to him, for he has bided his time patiently and serenely, and when such captains

I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you

my respects.

The air tastes good to my palate.

Another song on the death of Lincoln, "Oh Captain! My Captain!"

Leaves of Grass (1881–1882)

  • Date: 1881–1882
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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

Leaves of Grass (1891–1892)

  • Date: 1891–1892
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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!"

Leaves of Grass (1867)

  • Date: 1867
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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!

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!"

"Leaves of Grass"

  • Date: September 1887
  • Creator(s): Lewin, Walter
Text:

Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron or my ankles with iron?

do I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you, do my

"The chief end I purpose to myself in all my labours," wrote Dean Swift, "is to vex the world rather

and flows": "This day, before dawn, I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my

And my spirit said ' No .'"

Annotations Text:

suddenly,—reservedly, with a beautiful paucity of communication, even silently, such was its effect on my

Whitman for the Drawing Room

  • Date: April 1886
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my

own And I know that the Spirit of God is the brother of my own And that all the men ever born are also

my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers And that a kelson of the creation is love." . . . .

New Poetry of the Rossettis and Others

  • Date: January 1882
  • Creator(s): Anonymous
Text:

For illustration, he gives utterance to phrases like this: "I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it

He himself says, "Nor will my poems do good only, they will do just as much harm, perhaps more."

Leaves of Grass

  • Date: 10 October 1874
  • Creator(s): Saintsbury, George
Text:

look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books : ; "You shall not look through my

beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough; To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my

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