Petrarch - Sonnet CXVIII lyrics

HE IS LED BY LOVE TO REASON. No wearied mariner to port e'er fled From the dark billow, when some tempest's nigh, As from tumultuous gloomy thoughts I fly— Thoughts by the force of goading pa**ion bred: Nor wrathful glance of heaven so surely sped Destruction to man's sight, as does that eye Within whose bright black orb Love's Deity Sharpens each dart, and tips with gold its head. Enthroned in radiance there he sits, not blind, Quiver'd, and naked, or by shame just veil'd, A live, not fabled boy, with changeful wing; Thence unto me he lends instruction kind, And arts of verse from meaner bards conceal'd, Thus am I taught whate'er of love I write or sing. Nott. Ne'er from the black and tempest-troubled brine The weary mariner fair haven sought, As shelter I from the dark restless thought Whereto hot wishes spur me and incline: Nor mortal vision ever light divine Dazzled, as mine, in their rare splendour caught Those matchless orbs, with pride and pa**ion fraught, Where Love aye haunts his darts to gild and fine. Him, blind no more, but quiver'd, there I view, Naked, except so far as shame conceals, A winged boy—no fable—quick and true. What few perceive he thence to me reveals; So read I clearly in her eyes' dear light Whate'er of love I speak, whate'er I write. Macgregor.