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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Song
Work rating: Low

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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