This poem, along with several others, were written by
Chidiock Tichborne (1558-1586), the night before he was executed for his involvement with the
assassination plot of
Elizabeth I. It originally had no title, but
On the Eve of Execution, and
Tichborne's Elegy have been its' given name for centuries.
On the Eve of 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 gone and I yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen,
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I lookt for life and saw it was a shade,
I trode the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done
The day is gone and I yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.