Arthur Davison Ficke

(1883-1945 / United States)

The Three Sisters

Gone are the three, those sisters rare
   With wonder-lips and eyes ashine.
One was wise and one was fair,
   And one was mine.

Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair
   Of only two, your ivy vine.
For one was wise and one was fair,
   But one was mine.

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