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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?


That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute
         a verse.
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