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| Chidiok Tichborne |
(1586)
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| Elegy, Written With His Own Hand In The Tower Before His Execution | ||||
| My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my good is but vain hope of gain: The day is past, and yet I saw no sun, And now I live, and now my life is done. My tale was heard, and yet it was not told , My fruit is fallīn, and yet my leaves are green, My youth is spent, and yet I am not old, I saw the world, and yet I was not seen: My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun, And now I live, and now my day is done. I sought my death, and found it in my womb, I looked for life, and saw it was a shade, I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb, And now I die, and now I was but made: My glass is full, and now my glass is run, And now I live, and now my day is done |
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