O Captain, My Captain!

Today in History, April 14: 1865 – President Lincoln is assassinated at Ford’s Theater in DC.  He would die the next morning in a home accross the street. A few months later poet Walt Whitman would publish a poem which would voice the mood of the nation. 
    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;
        O 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.

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