terça-feira, 27 de maio de 2008

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done!The ship has weathered every wrack, 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! Leave you not the little spot 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 ribboned wreaths; for you the shores a-crowding:For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.
O Captain! dear father! This arm I push beneath you. 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.But the ship, the ship is anchored safe, 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 silent tread, Walk the spot my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

Um comentário:

  1. Poema de Walt Whitman feito em homenagem a George Lincon.