Lo, how they weave - the imperturbable three -
Those threads that are my destiny:
Steadily at the eternal task they're bent
Industrious . . . indifferent . . .
Weave, Fates! And what your spinstry weaves I'll forthwith wear
And if it clothe me for the day or death's no air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem