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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - SongWilfrid Scawen Blunt - Song
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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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