For other versions of this work, see Elegy (Tichborne).
- 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 falne, 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 runne,
- And now I live, and now my life is done.
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