Petrarch - Sonnet LI lyrics

HE FALL Upon the left shore of the Tyrrhene sea, Where, broken by the winds, the waves complain, Sudden I saw that honour'd green again, Written for whom so many a page must be: Love, ever in my soul his flame who fed, Drew me with memories of those tresses fair; Whence, in a rivulet, which silent there Through long gra** stole, I fell, as one struck dead. Lone as I was, 'mid hills of oak and fir, I felt ashamed; to heart of gentle mould Blushes suffice: nor needs it other spur. 'Tis well at least, breaking bad customs old, To change from eyes to feet: from these so wet By those if milder April should be met. Macgregor.