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August 10, 2016 - November 24, 2018
The Red Shirt’s Song
(with apology to Walt Whitman)
O Captain! my Captain! our five-year trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every test, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, this vessel boldly going;
And o heart! heart! heart!
O my flowing drops of red,
I stand this deck my Captain flies,
Surprised I am not 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;
O Captain! dear leader!
Fresh laurels grace your head!
My own reward that on this deck,
I breathe and am not dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are set and still,
Of ceaseless care though now relieved, he knows yet pulse and will,
Though his ship is moor’d now safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the great white ship has come with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
While I with joyful tread,
Walk this deck my Captain flies,
Relieved I am not dead.
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