Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

Song - Poem by Wilfrid 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.

Comments about Song by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: sorrow, city, sad, lost, love, time, song, heart

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

[Report Error]