You avoid me like a deer, Chloe,
seeking its trembling mother in the remote mountains
not without an empty fear
of the winds and the forest.
For whether a bush quivered to the wind
with shifting leaves, or whether green lizards
have moved a bramble,
it trembles with both its heart and its knees.
Nevertheless I do not pursue you, as a cruel tiger
or as a Gaetulian lion, to break you:
Cease to follow your mother,
at last you are ready for a man.
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Vītās īnuleō mē similis, Chloē,
quaerentī pavidam montibus āviīs
mātrem nōn sine vānō
aurārum et silvae metū.
Nam seu mōbilibus veris inhorruit
ad ventum foliīs, seu viridēs rubum
dīmōvēre lacertae,
et corde et genibus tremit.
Atquī nōn ego tē, tigris ut aspera
Gaetūlusve leō, frangere persequor:
tandem dēsine mātrem
tempestīva sequī virō.
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