My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, <br />My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, <br />My crop of corn is but a field of tares, <br />And all my good is but vain hope of gain. <br />The day is gone and I yet I saw no sun, <br />And now I live, and now my life is done. <br /> <br />The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung, <br />The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green, <br />My youth is gone, and yet I am but young, <br />I saw the world, and yet I was not seen, <br />My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun, <br />And now I live, and now my life is done. <br /> <br />I sought my death and found it in my womb, <br />I look't for life and saw it was a shade, <br />I trode the earth and knew it was my tomb, <br />And now I die, and now I am but made. <br />The glass is full, and now the glass is run, <br />And now I live, and now my life is done.<br /><br />Chidiock Tichborne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-prime-of-youth-is-but-a-frost-of-cares/
