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.

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

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

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