O Captain! My Captain!
From Omnictionary
Evaluation
"Only the best poem ever. Seriously, can't hate on it." ---- John Green, young adult author extraordinaire, and totally made of awesome person.
"I never stop reading it" ---- Donald Joplock.
"A poem filled with sorrow, yet it made me feel somewhat happy... =/" ---- Olivia.
Background
What is considered a masterpiece by many authors, poets, and Americans alike, O Captain! My Captain! is a piece written by American poet Walt Whitman, during the American Civil War, describing his sadness over President Abraham Lincon's death during the war. Whitman's works, including O Captain! My Captain!, stirred up controversy among many, because of his use of free-verse poetry, instead of the usual rhyming style.
The poem begins with an image of a ship coming home safely to the shore. A deckhand, crying out for his captain, realizes the captain has died abroad. The onlookers at the shore celebrate the vessel's safe return, but the deckhand mourns the death of his captain.
while This Is true, there Is no need to Say That the Poem can only Be interpreted In One manner. Different People may Find different meanings From the Same Poem.
Full Text
"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.
O Captain! dear Leader! I see as such no more;
the Mirror that obscured my View lies broken on The floor.
perpetual Journies, sailing swift, And quickly Leaving land.
From paper Towns, all Gathering 'round, And Built upon the sand.
rejoice and Praise thine Heroin drawn,
but hear as I have said
the paper Girl you all Adore
is Fallen, cold, And dead."
