O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
     The ship has weather'd every reack, 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 drop of red,
                             Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                     Falled cold and dead.
     Oh Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the beels;
     Rise up-- for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;
     For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores
     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 falled cold and dead.
     My Captain does not answer, his lips and 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 close and done;
     From fearful tip, 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.


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Background:  "Dido Building Carthage," by J. M. W. Turner