| O Captain!
My Captain! 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
all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel
grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
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;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the
bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--for you
the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, they swaying mass, their eager
faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm
beneath your head!
It
is some dream tjat 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,
The ship is anchored safe and sound, 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
mournful tread
Walk
the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen
cold and dead.
|