O Captain! My Captain!

Have you ever seen “Dead Poets Society”?  It’s one of those movies you watch on and on along life and it is still good after the eightieth time. 

Anyway, I was reading some poems of Walt Whitman and I came across this great one, which became popular thanks to that movie.

Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist. He was born in Westhills, Long Island, May 31, 1819, in a farm-house overlooking the sea. He learned type-setting at thirteen years of age and, two years later, he taught a country school. In addition to publishing his poetry he was a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War. He died in Camden, N. J., March 20, 1892. 

His poems lack much of the standard of recognized poetic measure; he has a style peculiar to himself, and his writings are full of meaning, beauty and interest.

O Captain! My Captain! 

by Walt Whitman

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!

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 ribbon'd 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,

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; 

The ship is anchor'd 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.