O Captain! My Captain!

O CAPTAIN! my captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd 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!

            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 ribbon'd 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 anchor'd 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.