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.