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


That you are here—that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a  
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