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𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦. @Thehouseofthedead_bot
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لا توجد بيانات24 ساعات
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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! My Captain!
- Walt Whittman
