A father wonders what to give his younger daughter beyond warmth and food. His answer: nothing. He imagines her owning the acres and brooks of South Weald and Havering, yet she’d be no richer than the lonely queen who once sat in Havering Bower with shadows, pleasure, and power. Even Samarcand or a mountain landscape with a white house poised like Venus over the Pleiades would bring no greater wealth. He refuses to cumber her hands with acres and their lumber. Instead, he leaves her the village of Steep, her own world, her spectacled self with hair uncurled, and the thousand little wants that time offers without contentment. The speaker’s feeling is tender, protective—a wish to keep her life uncluttered and true. The mood is intimate and gently melancholic, honoring a simple existence and the quiet richness of wanting what you already have.
What Shall I Give? — Summary
WHAT shall I give my daughter the younger More than will keep her from cold and hunger? I shall not give her anything. If she shared South Weald and Havering, Their acres, the two brooks running between, Paine's Brook and Weald Brook, With pewit, woodpecker, swan, and rook, She would be no richer than the queen Who once on a time sat in Havering Bower Alone, with the shadows, pleasure and power. She could do no more with Samarcand, Or the mountains of a mountain land And its far white house above cottages Like Venus above the Pleiades. Her small hands I would not cumber With so many acres and their lumber, But leave her Steep and her own world And her spectacled self with hair uncurled, Wanting a thousand little things That time without contentment brings.