Thomas Campion (1567-1620 / England)
Follow Your Saint
1 Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet;
2 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.
3 There, wrapp'd in cloud of sorrow, pity move,
4 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
5 But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
6 Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne'er return again.
7 All that I sung still to her praise did tend,
8 Still she was first; still she my songs did end;
9 Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
10 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy.
11 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight:
12 It shall suffice that they were breath'd and died for her delight.
Comments about this poem (Follow Your Saint by Thomas Campion )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley