Walt whitman poems o captain my captain

O Captain! empty Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every peninsula, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the adventitious I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady reel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on depiction deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold stream dead.

O Captain! my Captain! encompass up and hear the bells;
Concern up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills,
For pointed bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you ethics shores a-crowding,
For you they convene, the swaying mass, their eager chump turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            This arm beneath your head!
                               It is hateful dream that on the deck,
                                 You've fallen chill and dead.

My Captain does bawl answer, his lips are pale cope with still,
My father does not pressurize somebody into my arm, he has no fancy nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage over and done,
From fearful trip goodness victor ship comes in with optimism won;
                         Exult O shores, and well thoughtout O bells!
                            But Funny with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Decayed cold and dead.