Tichborne's Elegy written in 1586 from the Tower
by Bob on February 20, 2007
A lot is going on and yet nothing in other senses. Like that poem by Chidiock Tichborne whilst awaiting execution in the Tower of London in 1586 -- all monosyllabic words ... a poet conspirator. To wit:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chidiock_Tichborne
Like Mrs. Robinson and Eleanor Ribgy, where are you now, Chidiock Tichborne? When we need you so badly, it would seem. Yeah.
* * *
Chidiock Tichborne's 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 fallen 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 life 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 life is done.