Cynthia’s self that silver shape,

Boskage dark, she doth escape,

Long her gleaming body hid

Forth from its embraces slid,

Doth naked, glorious, emerge

Upon the lucent starry verge.

Let me linger in the wood,

Hear the sound of pipings rude,

Watch the shapes of nymph and fawn,

Centaurs fleet across the lawn,