_O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!_

(FOR THE DEATH OF LINCOLN.) by Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done!

The ship has weathered every wrack, 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 ribboned 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 anchored 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.