Classic Poem

Alive am I through lack of joy;
By joy you have been slowly slain;
So you are old, and I, a boy,
In all my hopes and dreams remain.

I have been kept alive by strife,
But you are moribund thro' peace,
My soul still longs for fuller life,
And yours from living seeks release.

You cannot live! I cannot die
While life has still so much to give.
You, through success, are dead; and I
By virtue of my failures live.

You, having garnered all things fair,
Can hope no more, so you are dead;
I, menaced by a black despair,
To an undying hope am wed:

You, having tasted all life's best,
Satiate, hopeless, dreamless lie;
But I!—my wounds refuse me rest;
I cannot age, I cannot die.

And, if I fail in life to win
The hopes that give me ardent breath,
I know that pangs of pain and sin
Will keep my soul alive in death.

And, rising from Death's natal sleep,
I still shall have the heart of youth,
And as a deathless spirit, reap
The ripened sheaves of love and truth.

I have been kept alive by pain—
By the nails driven in my cross,
And count my living failures gain,
And all your dead successes loss.