The Victor.
By Margaret Steele Anderson
"Thou hast not lived! No aim of earth
Thy body serves, nor home nor birth;
No children's eyes look up to thee
To solace thy mortality."
"Thou hast not lived! Forbidden seas
Shut thee from Beauty's treasuries;
Not for those hungry eyes of thine
Her marbles gleam, her colors shine."
"Thou hast not lived! Hast never brought
To steadfast form thy hidden thought;
Striving to speak, thou still art mute.
And fain to bear, hast yet no fruit."
So spake the Tempter, at his plot,
But thee, my Soul, he counted not!
Who mad'st me stand, serene and free.
And give him answer dauntlessly:
"Yea, shapes of earth are sweet and near.
And home and child are very dear;
Yet do I live, to be denied
These things, and still be satisfied."
"Yea, Beauty's treasures all are barred
By one dark hand, so spare, so hard!
Yet do I live, who still can be
Their lover, though I may not see."
Yea, it is true that I have wrought
No form divine from secret thought;
Yet do I live, since fain am I
To work that marvel ere I die.
And if I fruitless seem to thee,
Yet hath my God some fruit of me;
Since I can hear thee out, and bear
A spirit still for dreams and prayer!"