Classic Poem

ODE XXIII.— A REMONSTRANCE TO CHLOË THE
BASHFUL .

Why wilt thou, Chloë, fly me thus?
The yearling kid
Is not more shy and timorous,
Our woods amid,
Seeking her dam o'er glen and hill,
While all her frame vain terrors thrill.

Should a green lizard chance to stir
Beneath the bush—
Should Zephyr through the mountain-fir
Disporting gush—
With sudden fright behold her start,
With trembling knees and throbbing heart.

And canst thou think me, maiden fair!
A tiger grim?
A Lybian lion, bent to tear
Thee limb by limb?
Still canst thou haunt thy mother's shade,
Ripe for a husband, blooming maid?