the-riddle

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