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THE RING
September birthday with your nurse, and feltAn icy breath play on me, while I stooptTo take and kiss the ring.
Miriam.This very ringIo t'amo?
Father.Yes, for some wild hope was mineThat, in the misery of my married life,Miriam your Mother might appear to me.She came to you, not me. The storm, you hearFar-off, is Muriel—your step-mother's voice.
Miriam. Vext, that you thought my Mother came to me?Or at my crying 'Mother?' or to find
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