Bruised in Thy service, take in sacrifice.
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By Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
O fly not, Pleasure, pleasant-hearted Pleasure;
Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay:
For my heart no measure
Knows, or 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: