Walt Whitman wrote this poem in 1865 after the death of Abraham Lincoln. Oh 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 bouqueta and ribboned wreaths-for you the shores acrowding. For you they call, the swaying mass their eager faces turning; Here Captain! Dear father! The 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 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. Well, I did sing this song in Choir, and it is quite good in my opinion. --

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