O captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd 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 Heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.

Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!

Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth ever afterward resumes its liberty.

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.

But the people are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?

Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.