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. My glass is full, and now my glass is run, And now I live, and now my life is done. The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
© by Chidiok Tichborne (1558 - 1586)
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Sonja Kraushofer: Gesang
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