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.
