Book II, Elegy 19

Though, Cynthia, 'tis against my will that thou departest from Rome, glad am I that 'tis in the country far from paths of man thou dwellest without me. In those chaste fields thou shalt find no seductive youth whose flatteries shall not permit thee to be honest, nor shall any brawl arise before thy windows, nor shall thy slumber be made bitter by cries upon thy name. Lone shalt thou dwell and on lone mountains gaze, on flocks and the lands of poor farmers. There will no games have power to corrupt thee, no temples, most frequent cause of all thy sins; there shalt thou behold the tireless oxen plough, and the vine lay aside her foliage at the sickle's skilful touch, and there shalt thou bear a scanty offering of incense to some rude shrine, where the kid shall fall before a rustic altar; then bare-legged shalt thou imitate the country dance, if only there be no danger from the espial of some town-bred man.

I myself will hunt; now straightway 'tis my joy to perform sacrifice to Diana, my vows to Venus laid aside. I will begin to snare wild beasts, to nail trophies of horns to the pine-tree, and with mine own voice urge on the bold hounds: yet would I never dare to assail the lion fell, or with speedy foot go face the wild boar of the field. Daring enough for me to catch the timid hare, or pierce birds with arrows from the quiver, where Clitumnus shrouds his fair streams in his own beloved grove, and with his waters laves the snow-white kine.

Do thou, my love, oft as thou meditatest aught, remember that I shall be with thee in a few more dawns. So as thou rememberest this, neither the lonely woods nor the wandering streams upon the mossy hills can stay me from repeating thy name with tireless tongue; for one and all are ready to wrong an absent lover.