O me! O life!–of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless–of cities filled with the foolish;
Of myself for ever 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
Of the poor results of all–of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around
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?
That you are here–that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.