Cupid Slain
By Dora Sigerson Shorter
I come from a burial;
Hush! let me be:
I have put away my love,
Fair exceedingly.
Ah! the little gold curls
Soft about his face;
Now my heart is sorrowful
For his sleeping-place.
But he would pursue me,
Never let me rest;
Till I turned and slew him,
Knowing it were best.
Laid his bow beside him,
Shovelled in the clay;
To-morrow Ill forget him;
Let me weep to-day.