| Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912. |
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| Walt Whitman. 1819–1892 |
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| 140. O Captain! My Captain! |
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| 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! | 5 |
| O the bleeding drops of red, | |
| Where on the deck my Captain lies, | |
| Fallen cold and dead. | |
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| O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; | |
| Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| You 've fallen cold and dead. | |
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| 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; | 20 |
| Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! | |
| But I, with mournful tread, | |
| Walk the deck my Captain lies, | |
| Fallen cold and dead. | |
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