…from the quills of dead white poets


Thomas Campion (1567 – 1620)

Follow your saint…”

Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet;

Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.

There, wrapped 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 sighting 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 doth both 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.

About Avadoro Worden

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