Gone are the three, those sisters rare <br /> With wonder-lips and eyes ashine. <br />One was wise and one was fair, <br /> And one was mine. <br /> <br />Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair <br /> Of only two, your ivy vine. <br />For one was wise and one was fair, <br /> But one was mine.<br /><br />Arthur Davison Ficke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-three-sisters/
