Poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter

Cupid Slain

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 I’ll forget him;
Let me weep to-day.

1. Distant Voices
2. In a Wood
3. In Any Garden
4. An Imperfect Revolution
5. With a Rose

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