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Hírek

Whitman, Walt: O Captain! my Captain!

Whitman, Walt portréja

O Captain! my Captain! (Angol)

To Lincoln's death

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has wether’ 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 buggle 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.



FeltöltőP. T.
Az idézet forrásahttp://www.americanpoems.com

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