Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Episode 59: Tichborne's Elegy
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Episode 59: Tichborne's Elegy
In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death.
Tichborne's Elegy
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.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
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;
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
For more on Tichborne, see The Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/chidiock-tichborne
See also all the related content at The Poetry Foundation
View all episodes
By Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen
4.9
171171 ratings
In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death.
Tichborne's Elegy
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.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
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;
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
For more on Tichborne, see The Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/chidiock-tichborne
See also all the related content at The Poetry Foundation
More shows like Poetry For All
View all
The New Yorker Radio Hour
6,881 Listeners
The New Yorker: Fiction
3,330 Listeners
The Book Review
3,917 Listeners
Poetry Off the Shelf
439 Listeners
The New Yorker: Poetry
519 Listeners
Between The Covers : Conversations with Writers in Fiction, Nonfiction & Poetry
469 Listeners
On Being with Krista Tippett
10,387 Listeners
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
2,130 Listeners
London Review Bookshop Podcast
134 Listeners
Emergence Magazine Podcast
507 Listeners
The Daily Poem
746 Listeners
The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
1,216 Listeners
Poetry Unbound
3,618 Listeners
The Ezra Klein Show
16,525 Listeners
Close Readings
93 Listeners