(p. 87) “To My Daughter,” Stephen Spender
Bright clasp of her whole hand around my finger,
My daughter, as we walk together now.
All my life I’ll feel a ring invisibly
Circle this bone with shining: when she is grown
Far from today as her eyes are far already.
Why do I like this one? Maybe it’s just the image that I can almost feel physically—the memory of my own children holding a finger like a bright ring eternally binding me to them and all the while they are looking and moving far into the future and away. The strangeness of the word-order in that last line capture some of the disorientation of knowing the child who is so close now is rightfully bending all her will, his will on moving away.
even carols come to an end at last
1 month ago