O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill'd with the

        foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,

        and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the

        struggle ever renew'd;

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see

        around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me

        intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O

        life?

                               Answer.

  That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

  That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.