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.