Poem by Arthur Davison Ficke

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.

1. Like Him Whose Spirit in the Blaze of Noon
2. Among Shadows
3. Opus 67
4. Fate, with Devoted and Incessant Care
5. Serenade in Firelight

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