But in my mind who saw no gratitude In daughter or in mother for my deed. The daughter from that day took up a course More secret from my eyes, more variant From any wish I had. We stood apart, And grew apart thereafter. And from that day My wife grew worse in temper, worse in nerves. And though the people say she is my slave, That I alone, of all who live, have conquered Her spirit, still what despotism works Free of reprisals, or of breakings-forth When hands are here, not there? But to return: One takes up something for a livelihood, And dreams he'll leave it later, when in time His plans mature; and as he earns and lives, With some time for his plans, hopes for the day When he may step forth from his olden life Into a new life made thus gradually, I hoped to be a lawyer; but to live I started as a drug clerk--look to-day I own that little drug store--here I am With drugs my years through, drugged myself at last. And as a clerk I met my wife--went mad About her, and I see in Elenor Her mother's gift for making fools of men. Why, I can scarce explain it, it's the flesh, But then it's spirit too. Such flaming up As came from flames like ours, but more of hers Burned in the children. Yes, it might be well For theorists in heredity to think About the matter. Well, but how about The flames that make the children? For this woman Too surely ruined me and sapped my life. You hear much of the vampire, but what wife Has not more chance for eating up a man? She has him daily, has him fast for years.