FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet!
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!
There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move,
And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again!
All that I sung still to her praise did tend;
Still she was first, still she my songs did end;
Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy:
Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!
It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight.
Thomas Campion's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Devotion ii by Thomas Campion )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
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