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Amy Lowell - The Foreigner
Work rating: Low

Have at you, you Devils!
 My back`s to this tree,
For you`re nothing so nice
 That the hind-side of me
Would escape your assault.
 Come on now, all three!

Here`s a dandified gentleman,
 Rapier at point,
And a wrist which whirls round
 Like a circular joint.
A spatter of blood, man!
 That`s just to anoint

And make supple your limbs.
 `Tis a pity the silk
Of your waistcoat is stained.
 Why!  Your heart`s full of milk,
And so full, it spills over!
 I`m not of your ilk.

You said so, and laughed
 At my old-fashioned hose,
At the cut of my hair,
 At the length of my nose.
To carve it to pattern
 I think you propose.

Your pardon, young Sir,
 But my nose and my sword
Are proving themselves
 In quite perfect accord.
I grieve to have spotted
 Your shirt.  On my word!

And hullo!  You Bully!
 That blade`s not a stick
To slash right and left,
 And my skull is too thick
To be cleft with such cuffs
 Of a sword.  Now a lick

Down the side of your face.
 What a pretty, red line!
Tell the taverns that scar
 Was an honour.  Don`t whine
That a stranger has marked you.
     *    *    *    *    *
 The tree`s there, You Swine!

Did you think to get in
 At the back, while your friends
Made a little diversion
 In front?  So it ends,
With your sword clattering down
 On the ground.  `Tis amends

I make for your courteous
 Reception of me,
A foreigner, landed
 From over the sea.
Your welcome was fervent
 I think you`ll agree.

My shoes are not buckled
 With gold, nor my hair
Oiled and scented, my jacket`s
 Not satin, I wear
Corded breeches, wide hats,
 And I make people stare!

So I do, but my heart
 Is the heart of a man,
And my thoughts cannot twirl
 In the limited span
`Twixt my head and my heels,
 As some other men`s can.

I have business more strange
 Than the shape of my boots,
And my interests range
 From the sky, to the roots
Of this dung-hill you live in,
 You half-rotted shoots

Of a mouldering tree!
 Here`s at you, once more.
You Apes!  You Jack-fools!
 You can show me the door,
And jeer at my ways,
 But you`re pinked to the core.

And before I have done,
 I will prick my name in
With the front of my steel,
 And your lily-white skin
Shall be printed with me.
 For I`ve come here to win!
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