Long have I considered:

What is the question?

What is the answer?

What is life? What is death?

What do these mean?

In query and in quest,

Long have I sought

What it is that I have not

Wrought—

But only that which is come

By breath of the wind,

The breeze which winds

Throughout my lungs,

Till I should cease

To breathe.

What is the question? 

Life.

What is the answer? 

Death.