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44
THREE SISTERS
They dawned, I know not how or whence:
A halo circling round the head
Of each, whereby transfigurèd
They clomb the bill of frankincense.
I know not whence or how, they bloomed:
Each sweeter than the sweetest rose
That in the haunted garden grows
Where burns the bush still unconsumed.
And one is like a rising sun
When dewy Morn unveils her eyes;
And one is as Minerva wise;
And very lily-like is one.
