Petrarch - Sonnet CXXXII lyrics

HER WALK, LOOKS, WORDS, AND AIR As o'er the fresh gra** her fair form its sweet And graceful pa**age makes at evening hours, Seems as around the newly-wakening flowers Found virtue issue from her delicate feet. Love, which in true hearts only has his seat, Nor elsewhere deigns to prove his certain powers, So warm a pleasure from her bright eyes showers, No other bliss I ask, no better meat. And with her soft look and light step agree Her mild and modest, never eager air, And sweetest words in constant union rare. From these four sparks—nor only these we see— Springs the great fire wherein I live and burn, Which makes me from the sun as night-birds turn. Macgregor.