Classic Poem

Me, Chloe, like a fawn you fly,
That seeks in trackless mountains high
Her tim'rous dam again;
Alarm'd at every thing she hears,
The woods, the winds excite her fears,
Tho' all those fears are vain.
For if a tree the breeze receives,
That plays upon the quiv'ring leaves
When spring begins to start;
Or if green lizards, where they hide,
Turn but the budding bush aside,
She trembles knees and heart.
But I continue my pursuit,
Not like the fierce Getulian brute,
Or tyger, to assail,
And of thee life and limbs bereave —
Think now at last 'tis time to leave
Thy mother for a male.