<p>From Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, 1900 (concerning Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War):</p>
<p>O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;<br>
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;<br>
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,<br>
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:<br>
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,<br>
Where on the deck my Captain lies,<br>
Fallen cold and dead. </p>
<p>2</p>
<p>O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;<br>
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;<br>
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;<br>
Here Captain! dear father!<br>
This arm beneath your head;<br>
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead. </p>
<p>3</p>
<p>My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;<br>
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;<br>
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;<br>
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!<br>
But I, with mournful tread,<br>
Walk the deck my Captain lies,<br>
Fallen cold and dead.</p>