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THE RING
Till, in the gleam of those mid-summer dawns,The form of Muriel faded, and the faceOf Miriam grew upon me, till I knew;And past and future mix'd in Heaven and madeThe rosy twilight of a perfect day.
Miriam. So glad? no tear for him, who left you wealth,Your kinsman?
Father.I had seen the man but once;He loved my name not me; and then I pass'dHome, and thro' Venice, where a jeweller,So far gone down, or so far up in life,That he was nearing his own hundred, soldThis ring to me, then laugh'd 'the ring is weird.'
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