Seeking for Truth, she cried,
Canst tell me what life is, from whence it came,
And how: know'st thou the meaning of it all?
She toiled, but added nothing to her store
Of vital truth. All was vague hypothesis;
This thing was true today, tomorrow false;
So, wearily she turned to other fields.
She had begun all wrong. She would forget
The disappointment keen, and list to those
Who in the realm of mind work out a true
Philosophy.
Month after month passed thus,
And bright'ning hope gave place to dark despair:
These, like herself, were groping for the light.
Is it that truth is undiscernible
By human mind? Our toil is vain, our search
For happiness brings woe, and death were welcome.
