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Arthur Davison Ficke (Артур Дэвисон Фикке) 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. Arthur Davison Ficke's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1211 |
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