Valmiki Ramayana 2.24.18

2.24.18

ananyabhāvām anuraktacetasaṃ tvayā viyuktāṃ maraṇāya niścitām
nayasva māṃ sādhu kuruṣva yācanāṃ na te mayāto gurutā bhaviṣyati

Are plashing in the water-springs.
So would a thousand seasons flee
Like one sweet day, if spent with thee.
Without my lord I would not prize
A home with Gods above the skies:
Without my lord, my life to bless,
Where could be heaven or happiness?
Forbid me not: with thee I go
The tangled wood to tread.
There will I live with thee, as though
This roof were o'er my head.
My will for thine shall be resigned;
Thy feet my steps shall guide.
Thou, only thou, art in my mind:
I heed not all beside.
Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved;
Do not my prayer deny:
Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved
Thy Sitá swears to die.'
These words the duteous lady spake,
Nor would he yet consent
His faithful wife with him to take
To share his banishment.
He soothed her with his gentle speech;
To change her will he strove:
And much he said the woes to teach
Of those in wilds who rove.