Walt Whitman, 1865
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 turning;
Here 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 won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
I think I first read this poem around sixth grade; I don’t remember if it was assigned to us to memorize or if I saw it while looking for another poem. It’s such a heartfelt, heartwrenching story packed into just three stanzas. You’ve got excitement, realization, heartbreak, pleading, disbelief, acceptance, and grief. They’ve won the war, but at what cost? Countless lives were saved, but this dear one was lost. They made it all the way home, but too late. It should be a celebration, and for most people it is, but not for the narrator. It should be a celebration, with the Captain as the star of the show. But he’s fallen down dead, never to get up again. There’s nothing like going home with somebody but getting there alone.
The Badger Den 