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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Oh, Fly Not, Pleasure
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Oh 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 grey--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 went forth from the city
 Making thus my ditty
 Of fair love lost for ever and a day.
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