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.— Walt Whitman