Ah Chloe, like a fawn you now elude me,
Seeking its timid dam on lonely hills,
Its dam who not without an idle tremor
At breezes in the forest thrills.
For if before the breeze the bushes quiver
With rustling leaves, or if green lizards start
Across the bramble, then it is it trembles,—
This little fawn—in knees and heart.
But Chloe, I am not a cruel tiger,
Nor a Gaetulian lion, thee to chase;
And now that thou art old enough to marry,
Beside thy mother take thy place.