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Poem	SONNET XXXI. Io temo sì de' begli occhi l' assalto. HE EXCUSES HIMSELF FOR HAVING SO LONG DELAYED TO VISIT HER. So much I fear to encounter her bright eye.Alway in which my death and Love reside,That, as a child the rod, its glance I fly,Though long the time has been since first I tried;[Pg 44]And ever since, so wearisome or high,No place has been where strong will has not hied,Her shunning, at whose sight my senses die,And, cold as marble, I am laid aside:Wherefore if I return to see you late,Sure 'tis no fault, unworthy of excuse,That from my death awhile I held aloof:At all to turn to what men shun, their fate,And from such fear my harass'd heart to loose,Of its true faith are ample pledge and proof. Macgregor.
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