1
|
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;l |
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,l |
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:l |
But O heart! heart! heart!l |
O the bleeding drops of red,l |
Where on the deck my Captain lies,l |
Fallen cold and dead.l |
|
2
|
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;l |
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;l |
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;l |
Here Captain! dear father!l |
This arm beneath your head;l |
It is some dream that on the deck,l |
You've fallen cold and dead.l |
|
3
|
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;l |
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;l |
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;l |
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!l |
But I, with mournful tread,l |
Walk the deck my Captain lies,l |
Fallen cold and dead.l |
Walt Whitman