Guys, I love you all to pieces, but youre a bunch of literary Philistines. Its O Captain! My Captain! -- not Oh, Captain, my Captain -- by Walt Whitman, about the death of Abraham Lincoln. And its never been more powerful than tonight, thinking of Robin Williams, the sad man who made everybody else smile. Reading it now has made me cry, but thats okay. We can cry about beauty lost. Here it is in its entirety: O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weatherd 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 ribbond wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, Youve 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 anchord 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. ... May Robin rest in peace.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 03:20:28 +0000
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