Position:Home>Poetry> Need a poem around 35 lines please just give me a link or a poem please i don

O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered 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
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 wreath, for you the shore's a crowding
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning
Hear Captain! Dear Father!
The 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 anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done
From our fearful trip the victor ship comes 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!.
by: Walt Whitman this poem was written for LincolnWww@QuestionHome@Com

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Please tell us what the purpose of the project is!. Do you need to memorize the poem!? Rewrite it in some way!? Write an essay on it focusing on a certain aspect!?

also, as one of the previous answerer's said, it would be helpful if we knew what kind of poems you already like so we could at least give you something you'd enjoy working with!.

Take care!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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It would be easier to link you to something if I knew your interests and more about the assignment!.


The First Of January


When I often stay a motley crowd in,
When before my eyes, as in an awful dream,
To humming orchestras and dances,
And foolish whispering of speeches learnt by eart,
Flit figures of the people lost of heart,
And masques with a false politeness;
When my hands are touched, by any chance,
With heedless boldness of the city's lass,
By hands without virgin fear, --
Externally involved in their gleam and whim,
I cherish in my heart an old and dear dream,
The sacred sounds of the bygone years!.
And if in some way I can lose, at last,
The dark reality, then to the resent past
I fly in mind - as birds fly to the South;
I see myself a child, I see once more them all:
The gentry's manor, so old and tall,
The garden with the broken hothouse!.
Here sleeps a quiet pool under a net of grass,
Behind the pool, a village smokes, and they rise -
The mists - above the lawns so endless!.
I enter a dark lane; the evening beams
Peer through the bushes; and the yellow leaves
Rustle at my footsteps sadness!.
And sadness, very strange, lies my poor breast above:
I think about her, I weep and I do love,
I love my sacred dreams' creation
With eyes that full of ever-azure light,
With a rosy smile, as if, a grove behind,
The light of the young day's invasion!.
Thus, proud liege of the bewitching land,
For the long hours, immovable, I sat -
And their memory exists till now
Beneath the mighty storm of passions and mistrusts,
Like some fresh island, safe midst ocean's floods,
In water desert has been flowered!.
When, coming to my senses, I notice the fraud,
When the crowd's noise has completely destroyed
My dream - the wrong guest at their banquet -
Oh, how, then, I want to shock their foolish mirth
And boldly cast in their eyes my iron verse,
Steeped in bitterness and hatred!


Translated by Yevgeny BonverWww@QuestionHome@Com

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