Sonnet CXXXII
SONNET CXXXII.
Come 'l candido piè per l' erba fresca.
HER WALK, LOOKS, WORDS, AND AIR.
As o'er the fresh grass her fair form its sweetAnd graceful passage makes at evening hours,Seems as around the newly-wakening flowersFound 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 agreeHer 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.
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