O Me! O Life!
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 withthe foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more fool-
ish 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 averse.