1 Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet; <br />2 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet. <br />3 There, wrapp'd in cloud of sorrow, pity move, <br />4 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love: <br />5 But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, <br />6 Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne'er return again. <br /> <br />7 All that I sung still to her praise did tend, <br />8 Still she was first; still she my songs did end; <br />9 Yet she my love and music both doth fly, <br />10 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy. <br />11 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight: <br />12 It shall suffice that they were breath'd and died for her delight.<br /><br />Thomas Campion<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/follow-your-saint/
