The days to be already ail, The days to be they fear and fail, The days to be will never come; For day by day will die as we, Die as we in this our tomb. XIII Sisters, sisters, thirty years I sought where he might be; Thirty years I sought for him: Never did I see. Thirty years the way I trod; Long the road and hot; Sisters, he was everywhere, He who yet is not. Sisters, sad the hour and late, My sandal's thongs unpick. Even as I the evening dies, And my soul is sick. You whose years are seventeen, Forth and seek him too; Sisters, sisters, take my staff, Seek the whole world through. XIV There were three sisters fain to die. Her crown of gold each putteth on, And forth to seek their death they're gone. They wander to the forest forth: "Give us our death, O forest old, For here are our three crowns of gold." The forest broke into a smile, And kisses gave to each twice twain, That showed them all the future plain. There were three sisters fain to die: They wandered forth to seek the sea: They found it after summers three. "Give us our death, thou ocean old, For here are our three crowns of gold." Then the ocean began to weep: Three hundred kisses it gave the three, And all the past was plain to see. There were three sisters fain to die, To find the city they sought awhile; They found it midmost of an isle. "Give us our death, thou city old, For here are our three crowns of gold." The city opened then and there, And covered them with kisses dear That showed them all the present clear. XV Canticle of the Virgin in "Sister Beatrice"[1] I hold, to every sin, To every soul that weeps, My hands with pardon filled Out of the starry deeps. There is no sin that lives When love hath vigil kept; There is no soul that mourns When love but once hath wept. And tho' on many paths Of earth love lose its way, Its tears will find me out And shall not go astray. [1] Reprinted from "Soeur Beatrice." The translation is reprinted, by kind permission of Messrs Geo. Allen & Unwin, from my version of "Sister Beatrice: and Ardiane and Barbe Bleue," published by them. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Maurice Maeterlinck