Tom O’ Bedlam
THE morn’s my constant mistress,And the lovely owl my marrow;The naming drake,And the night-crow, makeMe music to my sorrow.
I know more than Apollo;For oft when he lies sleeping,I behold the starsAt mortal wars,And the rounded welkin weeping.
The moon embraces her shepherd,And the Queen of Love her warrior;While the first does hornThe stars of the morn,And the next the heavenly farrier.
With a heart of furious fancies,Whereof I am commander:With a burning spear,And a horse of air,To the wilderness I wander;
With a Knight of ghosts and shadows,I summoned am to Tourney:Ten leagues beyondThe wide world’s end;Methinks it is no journey.
THOMAS CAMPION Circ. 1567–1620