"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 may contribute a verse."
Walt Whitman, in http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182088
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