O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
    The ship has weathered 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 ribboned 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 anchored 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.

GO TO POLL

(1819-1892)

Walt Whitman was an American poet, journalist and essayist, best known for LEAVES OF GRASS (1855), which was occasionally banned ...

Harold Bloom has stated in The Western Canon (1994) that "no Western poet, in the past century and half, not even Browning, or Leopardi or Baudelaire, overshadows Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson."

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