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By Walt Whitman. 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,
- I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing
By Walt Whitman. Share. I saw in Louisiana a live-oak...
- Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman is America’s world poet—a latter-day successor...
- Beat! Beat! Drums
By Walt Whitman. Share. Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles!...
- A Noiseless Patient Spider
Walt Whitman at 200. By The Editors. May 17, 2019....
- I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing
"O Captain! My Captain!" is an extended metaphor poem written by Walt Whitman in 1865 about the death of U.S. president Abraham Lincoln. Well received upon publication, the poem was Whitman's first to be anthologized and the most popular during his lifetime.
¡Oh capitán, mi capitán! Terminó nuestro espantoso viaje, El navío ha salvado todos los escollos, Hemos ganado el codiciado premio, Ya llegamos a puerto, ya oigo las campanas, Ya el pueblo acude gozoso, Los ojos siguen la firme quilla del navío resuelto y audaz, Mas, ¡oh corazón, corazón, corazón! ¡Oh rojas gotas sangrantes!
Poema manuscrito de Whitman. ¡Oh, capitán! ¡Mi capitán! (del inglés: Oh Captain! My captain!) es un poema de Walt Whitman escrito en homenaje a Abraham Lincoln, presidente de EE. UU., después de su asesinato en 1865.
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!
¡Oh capitán, mi capitán! (1912) de Walt Whitman WHITMAN, Walt: Poemas, traducido por Armando Vasseur, Montevideo: Claudio García y Cía. Editores, p.86-86
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!
