Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
Song: O fly not, Pleasure, pleasant-hearted PleasureWilfred Scawen Blunt (18401922)
O
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.
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.
Moved me to tears: I dared not say them nay,
But pass’d forth from the city,
Making thus my ditty
Of fair love lost for ever and a day.