Here you will find the Poem His Youth of poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad? You think I need to ask for heavenly grace? I think you are a fiend, who would be glad To see me struggle in death's cold embrace. 'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth Stronger than I have been in years; and soon I shall feel young again as in my youth, My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon. 'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time, When proud and glad I laughed the hours away. Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime) I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day. 'But I'm not old! I grew-just ill, somehow; Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight. It was but sickness. I am better now, Oh, vastly better, ever since last night. 'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears To think my strength is coming back at last, For I have dreamed of such an hour for years, As I lay thinking of my glorious past. 'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth. How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain? How dare you say I have outlived my youth? ''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still! I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave. Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill- O youth, youth, youth! it is my youth I crave. 'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear. I am not sure of even rest or sleep; Perhaps we lie and hink, as I have here. 'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot, And hear the young above us laugh in glee. How dare you say I'm dying! I am not. I would curse God if such a thing could be. 'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath- Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?' A cry-a fall-the silence known as death Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?