Page:Demeter and other poems (IA demeterotherpoem00tennrich).pdf/86

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THE RING
Miriam.O poor Mother!And you, poor desolate Father, and poor me,The little senseless, worthless, wordless babe,Saved when your life was wreck'd!
Father.Desolate? yes!Desolate as that sailor, whom the stormHad parted from his comrade in the boat,And dash'd half dead on barren sands, was I.Nay, you were my one solace; only—youWere always ailing. Muriel's mother sent,And sure am I, by Muriel, one day cameAnd saw you, shook her head, and patted yours,And smiled, and making with a kindly pinchEach poor pale cheek a momentary rose—
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