Margaret Steele Anderson Poems

The bride, she wears a white, white rose -- the plucking it was mine;
The poet wears a laurel wreath -- and I the laurel twine;
And oh, the child, your little child, that's clinging close to you,
It laughs to wear my violets -- they are so sweet and blue!
...

(The Lord God speaks to a youth)

Bend now thy body to the common weight!
(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn!
...