This Be The Verse

Philip Larkin

O Captain! My Captain!

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.

    IF love were what the rose is,
        And I were like the leaf,
    Our lives would grow together
    In sad or singing weather,
    Blown fields or flowerful closes
        Green pleasure or grey grief ;
    If love were what the rose is,
        And I were like the leaf.

    If I were what the words are,
        And love were like the tune,
    With double sound and single
    Delight our lips would mingle,
    With kisses glad as birds are
        That get sweet rain at noon ;
    If I were what the words are,
        And love were like the tune.

    If you were life, my darling,
        And I your love were death,
    We 'd shine and snow together
    Ere March made sweet the weather
    With daffodil and starling
        And hours of fruitful breath ;
    If you were life, my darling,
        And I your love were death.

    If you were thrall to sorrow,
        And I were page to joy,
    We 'd play for lives and seasons
    With loving looks and treasons
    And tears of night and morrow
        And laughs of maid and boy ;
    If you were thrall to sorrow,
        And I were page to joy.

    If you were April's lady,
        And I were lord in May,
    We 'd throw with leaves for hours
    And draw for days with flowers,
    Till day like night were shady
        And night were bright like day ;
    If you were April's lady,
        And I were lord in May.

    If you were queen of pleasure,
        And I were king of pain,
    We 'd hunt down love together,
    Pluck out his flying-feather,
    And teach his feet a measure,
        And find his mouth a rein ;
    If you were queen of pleasure,
        And I were king of pain.