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. Walt Whitman .( .....and John Keating, in Dead Poets Society. )
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 03:53:58 +0000
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