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 Ill forget him;
Let me weep to-day.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Dora Sigerson Shorter was an Irish poet and sculptor born in Dublin in 1866. She was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival, a movement that aimed to promote Irish literature and culture in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. She was also a close friend of W.B. Yeats and married the writer and journalist Clement King Shorter. Dora's work often dealt with themes of Irish nationalism and folklore, and she published several volumes of poetry before her untimely death in 1918.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Scallop Shell

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

Sanctuary

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

A Vagrant Heart

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

All Souls Eve

Dora Sigerson Shorter, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Weeping Cupid

Why love!    I thought you were gay and fair,
Merry of mien and debonair.
What then means this brow so black,
Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give back,
Poor little god in tears, alack!

Why love!    I thought in your smiling cheek
Dainty dimples played hide and seek;
Passing by like a winters night,
With stormy sighs from lips all white.
Poor little god, how comes your plight?

A maiden said you were tall and bold,
With an arm of steel and a heart of gold;
Whose changing face would make her day;
When came a frown, the sunshine play
Of smiles would chase the clouds away.

A youth once said you were like a maid
With sunny hair in a golden braid;
Whose cheeks were each a rose uncurled;
And brow a lilybell unfurled;
The fairest maid in...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Cupids Funeral

By his side, whose days are past,
Lay bow and quiver!
And his eyes that stare aghast
Close, with a shiver.
God nor man from Death, at last,
Love may deliver.

Though, of old, we vowed, my dear,
Death should not take him;
Mourn not thou that we must here
Coldly forsake him;
Shed above his grave no tear,
Tears will not wake him.

Cupid lieth cold and dead,
Ended his flying,
Pale his lips, once rosy-red,
Swift was his dying.
Place a stone above his head,
Turn away, sighing.

Victor James Daley

Cupid Turned Stroller. - From Anacreon

At dead of night, when stars appear,
And strong Bootes turns the Bear,
When mortals sleep their cares away,
Fatigued with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;
Who's there, says I? who knocks so late,
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest?
O fear not me, a harmless guest,
He said; but open, open pray;
A foolish child, I've lost my way,
And wander here this moonlight night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepared,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow:
In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate;
I set the child an easy chair
Against the fire, and dried his hair;
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warm'd h...

Matthew Prior

Love

Deep in the moving depths
        Of yellow wine,
I swore Id drown your face,
        O love of mine;
All clad in yellow hue,
        So fair to see,
You crouched within my cup
        And laughed at me.

Twice oer a learned page
        I turned and tossed,
For would I not forget
        The love I lost.
All stern and robed in gloom,
        You read it too,
I could not see the words-
        Saw only you.

Within the hungry chase
        I thought to kill
You, love, who haunted thus
        Without my will,
But in the gentle gaze
        Of fawn and deer,
Your eyes disarmed my hand,
        And shook my spear.

Beneath a maids dark lash
        I swore youd drown,
Sink in the laughing blue-...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Lover

I go through wet spring woods alone,
Through sweet green woods with heart of stone,
My weary foot upon the grass
Falls heavy as I pass.
The cuckoo from the distance cries,
The lark a pilgrim in the skies;
But all the pleasant spring is drear.
I want you, dear!

I pass the summer meadows by,
The autumn poppies bloom and die;
I speak alone so bitterly
For no voice answers me.
O lovers parting by the gate,
O robin singing to your mate,
Plead you well, for she will hear
I love you, dear!

I crouch alone, unsatisfied,
Mourning by winters fireside.
O Fate, what evil wind you blow.
Must this be so?
No southern breezes come to bless,
So conscious of their emptiness
My lonely arms I spread in woe,
I want you so.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Cupid Mistaken

As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart:
With all his might his bow he drew:
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.

I faint! I die! the Goddess cry'd:
O cruel, could'st thou find none other,
To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.

Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye:
Alas! how easy my mistake?
I took you for your likeness, Cloe.

Matthew Prior