O life!
of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithlessβof cities filld with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproachin myself, for who more foolish than I who more faithless?
Of eyes that vainly crave the light βof objects meanβof the struggle ever renewd;
Of the poor results of allβof plodding & sordid crowds I see around me;
Of empty & useless years of the restβwith the rest me intertwined;
The question
O me!
so sad
recurrin
What good amid these
O me, O life?
ππ³οΈβπ
