In this tender address to his wife Helen, Edward Thomas imagines standing before a vast treasure-house, free to choose anything for her. The list he runs through is full of warmth: youth, truth, a clear eye, landscapes, wine, children, an art better than his own. The tone stays intimate, but a quiet sadness runs beneath the words, because he knows he cannot actually bestow these things. The deepest gift comes at the end: he would give Helen back herself, along with the power to know what she really wants before it is too late. He even offers himself — if he could only find where his own hidden self lay and be sure it was kind. The poem feels like a whispered confession, loving and bittersweet, haunted by the sense that the gifts we most wish to give are the ones we can never quite hand over.
And You, Helen — Summary
AND you, Helen, what should I give you? So many things I would give you Had I an infinite great store Offered me and I stood before To choose. I would give you youth, All kinds of loveliness and truth, A clear eye as good as mine, Lands, waters, flowers, wine, As many children as your heart Might wish for, a far better art Than mine can be, all you have lost Upon the travelling waters tossed, Or given to me. If I could choose Freely in that great treasure-house Anything from any shelf, I would give you back yourself, And power to discriminate What you want and want it not too late, Many fair days free from care And heart to enjoy both foul and fair, And myself, too, if I could find Where it lay hidden and it proved kind.