“Oh me! Oh 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.”