 | Leaves of grass. |  |
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 intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring — What good amid these, O me, O life?
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 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.
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
| Leaves of grass. | |