Francesco Petrarca Sonnet XC Another translation

Her golden hair was scattered in the breeze,

that wrapped it in a thousand sweet knots,

and the lovely light burned beyond measure spots

from those beautiful eyes, which are now so scarce;

and her face seemed to take on a pitiful color,

I still know not whether true or false:

I, who had the tinder of love in my breast,

what wonder if I suddenly is burned at sorrow.

Her gait was not mortal, because it’s immortal

but angelic in form; and her tender words

sounded other than a mere human voice;

a celestial spirit and a living sun avatar

was what I saw: and if it were not so now,

wounds wouldy not heal from the Amur bow.