Wilfrid Scawen Blunt: Song
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Song

Born 1840


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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DayPoems Poem No. 764



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