Sister fairest, why art thou sighing

Sister fairest, why art thou sighing?

"Dear one, a ring was on my hand;

now in the sea's cold deep 'tis lying,

no diver brings it back to land."

Sister sweetest, why art thou weeping?

"Dear one, a rose bloomed on my tree;

some cruel hand, while I was sleeping,

hath reft my rose away from me."

Sister saddest, why art thou pining?

"Dear one, I had a lover true;

death smote him in my arms reclining.

and I for death am pining too!"