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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To Chloe

By Horace (65–8 B.C.)

Paraphrase from ‘Echoes from the Sabine Farm,’ by Eugene and Roswell Martin Field

CHLOE, you shun me like a hind

That, seeking vainly for her mother,

Hears danger in each breath of wind,

And wildly darts this way and t’other;

Whether the breezes sway the wood

Or lizards scuttle through the brambles,

She starts; and off as though pursued

The foolish frightened creature scrambles.

But, Chloe, you’re no infant thing

That should esteem a man an ogre:

Let go your mother’s apron-string

And pin your faith upon a toga!