You Have Her Father's Love,

Fools Are Not Mad Folks.

You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing Much Alone.

The Voice Of Parents Is The Voice Of Gods, For To Their Children They Are Heaven's Lieutenants.

Plain And Not Honest Is Too Harsh A Style.

Then Was I As A Tree Whose Boughs Did Bend With Fruit; But In One Night, A Storm Or Robbery, Call It What You Will, Shook Down My Mellow Hangings, Nay, My Leaves, And Left Me Bare To Weather.