_Dear son, this twisted, tangled web of whims For you was woven while you scarcely knew The simplest speech men use; but infant limbs, That round and smooth in dimpled fairness grew, Waved for all word in a babe's perfect glee, So wondrous sweet to see._ _It is not stranger than this world must seem To one who its vagaries first does scan; It is less weird than the enchanted dream Which life may change to ere you be a man. Such as it is, take it for this alone,-- That it is all your own._…
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