Conscience.

Wisdom am I when thou art but a fool;
My part the man, when thou hast played the clod;
Hast lost thy garden? When the eve is cool,
Harken!, 'tis I who walk there with thy God!

Margaret Steele Anderson

Margaret Steele Anderson was an American poet and author, born on October 8, 1867. She is known for her lyrical and expressive poetry, which often explores themes of nature, emotion, and personal reflection. Anderson's works include several published collections of poetry and prose that garnered critical acclaim during her lifetime. Though not as widely recognized today, her contributions to American literature remain significant. She passed away on October 7, 1921.

Margaret Steele Anderson

The Trees.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

To The Fighting Weak.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

A Stage-Figure.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

Autumn.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

English

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Habit.

So, then! Wilt use me as a garment? Well,
'Tis man's high impudence to think he may;

But I, who am as old as heav'n and hell,
I am not lightly to be east away.

Wilt run a race? Then I will run with thee,
And stay thy steps or speed thee to the goal;

Wilt dare a fight? Then, of a certainty,
I'll aid thy foeman, or sustain thy soul.

Lo, at thy marriage-feast, upon one hand.
Face of thy bride, and on the other, mine!

Lo, at thy couch of sickness close I stand.
And taint the cup, or make it more benign.

Yea, hark! the very son thou hast begot

One day doth give thee certain sign and cry;

Hold thou thy peace, frighted or frighted not;
That look, that sign, that presence, it is I!

Margaret Steele Anderson

Courage.

I thank thee, Life, that though I be
This poor and broken thing to see,
I still can look with pure delight
Upon thy rose, the red, the white.

And though so dark my own demesne,
My neighbor's fields so fair and green,
I thank thee that my soul and I
Can fare along that grass and sky.

Yet am I weak! Ere I be done.
Give me one spot that takes the sun!
Give me, ere I uncaring rest.
One rose, to wear it on my breast!

Margaret Steele Anderson

In The Image Of God.

The falling of a leaf upon thy way,
The flutter of a bird along thy sky,
Thou God, to whom the ages are a day,
Ev'n such, alas! oh, ev'n such am I!

So long the time, O Lord, when I was not.
And ah, so long the time I shall not be,
So strange and small, so passing small my lot,
I cry aloud at thine immensity!

Will not thy garment brush the leaf aside?
Wilt thou, eternal, look upon the fall
Of one poor bird? Or canst thou, stooping wide
From thy great orbit, hearken to my call?

0, little child 0, little child and fool!
My planets are my gardens, where I go.
At morn and eve, at dawning and at cool.
To see my living green and mark it grow.

I know the leaves that fall from every tree,
I know the birds that nest those gardens through,

Margaret Steele Anderson

Constance.

Beyond the orchard, in the lane,
The crested red-bird sings again -
O bird, whose song says, Have no care.
Should I not care when CONSTANCE there, -
My CONSTANCE, with the bashful gaze,
Pink-gowned like some sweet hollyhock, -
If I declare my love, just says
Some careless thing as if in mock?
Like - Past the orchard, in the lane,
How sweet the red-bird sings again!

There, while the red-bird sings his best,
His listening mate sits on the nest -
O bird, whose patience says, All's well,
How can it be with me, now tell?
When CONSTANCE, with averted eyes, -
Soft-bonneted as some sweet-pea, -
If I speak marriage, just replies
With some such quaint irrelevancy,
As, While the red-bird sings his best,
His loving mate sits on...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Church.
Still, still thy garden hath its fruits and spices,
My Lord, my Lord!
Still hath its wells and pools of thy devices,
My Lord!
White, in a stranger soil, thy lily stands, the close
Breathes with thy rose!

Wild feet, mad feet, thy lovely paths have beaten,
My Lord, my Lord!
And sinful lips thy holy fruits have eaten,
My Lord!
Strange hands have tended me and tended ill, yet thou
Lovest me, now!

So to thy feet I offer my waste places.
My Lord, my Lord!
walk them till they spring in verdant graces,
My Lord!
With new trees plant, and from the fruits divine
Tread out thy wine!
Margaret Steele Anderson

Conscience
Within the soul are throned two powers,
One, Love; one, Hate. Begot of these,
And veiled between, a presence towers,
The shadowy keeper of the keys.

With wild command or calm persuasion
This one may argue, that compel;
Vain are concealment and evasion--
For each he opens heaven and hell.
Madison Julius Cawein