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domingo, março 18, 2007

D.P.S.


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.


W.W. , "Leaves of Grass", 1900