No specification is necessary — to add or subtract or divide is in vain. Little or big, learned or unlearned, white or black, legal or illegal, sick or well, from the first inspiration down the windpipe to the last expiration out of it, all that a male or female does that is vigorous and benevolent and clean is so much sure profit to him or her in the unshakable order of the universe and through the whole scope of it for ever.
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.
Camerado, this is no book, Who touches this touches a man, (Is it night? are we here together alone?) It is I you hold and who holds you, I spring from the pages into your arms — decease calls me forth.
