Now if you study me, Look at my face, you'll see some trace of her: My brow is hers, my mouth is hers, my eyes Of lighter color are yet hers, this way I have of laughing, as I saw inside The matter deeper cause for laughter, hers. And my jaw hers betokening a will, Hers too, with chin that mitigates the will, Shading to softness as hers did. Our minds Had something too in common: first this will Which tempted fate to bend it, break it too-- I know not why in her case or in mine. But when my will is bent I grow morose, And when it's broken, I become a scourge To all around me. Yes, I've visited A life-time's wrath upon my wife. This daughter When finding will subdued did not give up, But took the will for something else--went on By ways more prosperous; but alas! poor me! I hold on when defeated, and lie down When I am beaten, growling, ruminate Upon my failure, think of nothing else. But truth to tell, while we two were opposed, This daughter and myself, while temperaments Kept us at sword's points, while I saw in her Traits of myself I liked not, also traits Of the child's mother which I loathe, because They have undone me, helped at least--no less I see this child as better than myself, And better than her mother, so admire. Also I never trusted her; as a child She would rush in relating lying wonders; She feigned emotions, purposes and moods; She was a little actress from the first, And all her high resolves from first to last Seemed but a robe with flowing sleeves in which Her hands could hide some theft, some secret spoil. When she was fourteen I could see in her The passionate nature of her mother--well You know a father's feelings when he sees His daughter sensed by youths and lusty men As one of the kind for capture. It's a theme A father cannot talk of with his daughter. He may say, "have a care," or "I forbid Your strolling, riding with these boys at night." But if the daughter stands and eyes the father, As she did me with flaming eyes, then goes Her way in secret, lies about her ways, The father can but wonder, watch or brood, Or switch her maybe, for I switched her once, And found it did no good. I needed here The mother's aid, but no, her mother saw Herself in the girl, and said she knew the girl, That I was too suspicious, out of touch With a young girl's life, desire for happiness. But when this Alma Bell affair came up, And the school principal took pains to say My daughter was too reckless of her name In strolling and in riding, then my wife Howled at me like a tigress: whip that man! And as my daughter cried, and my wife screeched, And called me coward if I let him go, I rushed out to the street and finding him Beat up his face, though almost dropping dead From my exertion. Well, the aftermath Was worse for me, not only by the talk,