But if the beauteous deer, pursued, Thine arts to take it still elude, Strike it, O chieftain, and the skin Will be a treasure, laid within. O, how I long my time to pass Sitting upon the tender grass, With that soft fell beneath me spread Bright with its hair of golden thread!

In plain words: Sita tells Rama that if he cannot catch the golden deer alive, he should shoot it. She dreams of sitting on its soft golden skin spread over the grass.