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.Walt Whitman

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