Petrarch - Sonnet CXLVIII lyrics

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A BIRD CAUGHT IN A NET Love 'mid the gra** beneath a laurel green— The plant divine which long my flame has fed, Whose shade for me less bright than sad is seen— A cunning net of gold and pearls had spread: Its bait the seed he sows and reaps, I ween Bitter and sweet, which I desire, yet dread: Gentle and soft his call, as ne'er has been Since first on Adam's eyes the day was shed: And the bright light which disenthrones the sun Was flashing round, and in her hand, more fair Than snow or ivory, was the master rope. So fell I in the snare; their slave so won Her speech angelical and winning air, Pleasure, and fond desire, and sanguine hope. Macgregor.