Dead Poets Society

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 turningHere 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 wonExult,
O shores, an
d ring, O
bells!But
I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman