WHY, Chloe, like a timid hind Upon the rugged mountains flying At every motion of the wind Affrighted to its mother hieing,— Why dost avoid me? If but the tender branches move Upon the zephyr gently swaying, Should lizard rustle in the grove,— Through all thy form, see, terror playing! No lion, I, from Afric's clime; No tiger from the jungle's cover. Leave then thy mother; it is time That thou shouldst own a lover. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 57 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE CALIBAN IN THE COAL MINES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER MY JEWEL CASE by BESSE BURNETT BELL |