(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.
