In the woods, rather, with wild beasts to couch,

And bear my doom, and character my love

Upon the tender tree-trunks: they will grow,

And you, my love, grow with them. And meanwhile

I with the Nymphs will haunt Mount Maenalus,

Or hunt the keen wild boar. No frost so cold

But I will hem with hounds thy forest-glades,

Parthenius. Even now, methinks, I range