THE FOUR SISTERS

THE FOUR SISTERS
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There will come a maiden soon, I ween,
Dressed in a cloak of palest green;
The robins follow her gentle call,
And wild-flowers bloom where her footsteps fall.

Then will come another with stately trend,
In lilies and roses garlanded;
Her breath is the essence of all things sweet,
And she carries a sheaf of golden wheat.

A third will come dressed in a nut-brown suit,
Her lap all filled with yellow fruit;
Around her brow are autumn leaves,
And she makes her way amid vines and sheaves.

Lastly a snow-white maiden fair
Will come bedecked with diamonds rare;
She will put the others to rest complete,
And wrap them all in a winding-sheet.