—— vo cercand' io,

    Donna quant' e possibile in altrui

    La desiata vostra forma vera.

           PETRARC, Sonett. 14.

Yes, if 'twere any common love,

  That led my pliant heart astray,

I grant, there's not a power above

  Could wipe the faithless crime away.

But 'twas my doom to err with one

  In every look so like to thee

That, underneath yon blessed sun

  So fair there are but thou and she

Both born of beauty, at a birth,

  She held with thine a kindred sway,

And wore the only shape on earth

  That could have lured my soul to stray.

Then blame me not, if false I be,

  'Twas love that waked the fond excess;

My heart had been more true to thee,

  Had mine eye prized thy beauty less.