O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! Walt Whitman O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, Our 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. 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 masses sway, 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 me, his lips are pale and still, My father does not hear me now, he has no pulse nor will. The ship is anchored safe and sound, the 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. Written to Abraham Lincoln.