Wilfred Scawen Blunt


O FLY not, Pleasure, pleasant-hearted Pleasure;
    Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay:
            For my heart no measure
            Knows, nor other treasure
To buy a garland for my love to-day.

And thou, too, Sorrow, tender-hearted Sorrow,
    Thou gray-eyed mourner, fly not yet away:
            For I fain would borrow
            Thy sad weeds to-morrow,
    To make a mourning for love's yesterday.

The voice of Pity, Time's divine dear Pity,
    Moved me to tears: I dared not say them nay,
            But passed forth from the city,
            Making thus my ditty
Of fair love lost for ever and a day.

About the poet
Wilfred Scawen Blunt
By the same poet
The Desolate City
With Esther
To Manon, on his Fortune in loving Her
St. Valentine's Day
Written at Florence
The Two Highwaymen
Related books
Wilfred Scawen Blunt at amazon.co.uk

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