You shun me, Chloë, like a fawn
That, frightened, seeks its timorous mother,
Running this way and the other,
When familiar paths are gone;
Starting at the lightest breeze,
Or a bush stirred by a lizard,
Or when Spring, the gentle wizard,
Trembles in her knees.

Chloë, do not fear me so—
I am not a beast to scare you,
Not a lion that would tear you;
Do not treat me as a foe.
Chloë, leave your mother's side;
Come, you are a child no longer.
Make your faint desires stronger—