Classic Poem

When shall the libel of old age be struck
 From that fair coin, man's body? Nature burns
With big desire to brand the lie, to pluck
 From plastic flesh the symbol that she spurns;
Pouring her precious treasure without stint
 That man, made over like the new born child
 Shall have, each year, a body undefiled,
Shining and clean from heaven's unfailing mint.

Too long has superstition paid the toll
 To this supreme, insatiable sin!
Man, in Life's image, dying with his dole,
 Housed with the worm, to dust and ashes kin.
There is no crime against the human race
 More terrible than age—to take new gold
 Perfect and pure from the eternal mould
And stamp so huge a falsehood on its face.

How dare we halt and shrivel with the years?
 How dare we bow to death, decay and age
When Life , that thunders through a million spheres,
 Terrific torrent of creative rage,
Sings in our sinews, laughs within the blood,
 Cries, “Counterfeit!” to man's poor tale of blight;
 Shouts, “I can make you over in a night,
If ye but yield to my renewing flood.”

 O man, predestined creature of the sun,
  Speak, in thy might, but the stupendous Truth—
 Thy thought, thy will, thine aim and Nature's one—
  And thou shalt know at last eternal youth!