The Foreigner
Have at you, you Devils!My back's to this tree,For you're nothing so niceThat the hind-side of meWould escape your assault.Come on now, all three!
Here's a dandified gentleman,Rapier at point,And a wrist which whirls roundLike a circular joint.A spatter of blood, man!That's just to anoint
And make supple your limbs.'Tis a pity the silkOf 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 laughedAt my old-fashioned hose,At the cut of my hair,At the length of my nose.To carve it to patternI think you propose.
Your pardon, young Sir,But my nose and my swordAre proving themselvesIn quite perfect accord.I grieve to have spottedYour shirt. On my word!
And hullo! You Bully!That blade's not a stickTo slash right and left,And my skull is too thickTo be cleft with such cuffsOf a sword. Now a lick
Down the side of your face.What a pretty, red line!Tell the taverns that scarWas an honour. Don't whineThat a stranger has marked you.The tree's there, You Swine!
Did you think to get inAt the back, while your friendsMade a little diversionIn front? So it ends,With your sword clattering downOn the ground. 'Tis amends
I make for your courteousReception of me,A foreigner, landedFrom over the sea.Your welcome was ferventI think you'll agree.
My shoes are not buckledWith gold, nor my hairOiled and scented, my jacket'sNot satin, I wearCorded breeches, wide hats,And I make people stare!
So I do, but my heartIs the heart of a man,And my thoughts cannot twirlIn the limited span'Twixt my head and my heels,As some other men's can.
I have business more strangeThan the shape of my boots,And my interests rangeFrom the sky, to the rootsOf 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 inWith the front of my steel,And your lily-white skinShall be printed with me.For I've come here to win!
Words in this poem
- dandified a.
- Made up like a dandy; having the dress or manners of a dandy; buckish.
- rapier n.
- A straight sword, with a narrow and finely pointed blade, used only for thrusting. Rapier fish (Zoöl.), the swordfish. Grew. [F. rapière, perhaps for raspière, and ultimately of German origin, akin to E. rasp, v.]
- propose v. i.
- To speak; to converse.
- slash v. t.
- To cut by striking violently and at random; to cut in long slits. [OE. slaschen, of uncertain origin; cf. OF. esclachier to break, esclechier, esclichier, to break, and E. slate, slice, slit, v. t.]
- honour n.
- Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
- fervent a.
- Hot; glowing; boiling; burning; as, a fervent summer. [F. fervent, L. fervens, -entis. p.pr. of fervere o the boiling hot, to boil, glow.]
- oiled a.
- Covered or treated with oil; dressed with, or soaked in, oil.
- corded a.
- Bound or fastened with cords.
- twirl v. t.
- To move or turn round rapidly; to whirl round; to move and turn rapidly with the fingers. [Cf. AS. þwiril a churn staff, a stirrer, flail, þweran, aþweran, to agitate, twirl, G. zwirlen, quirlen, to twirl, to turn round or about, quirl a twirling stic]
- pinked a.
- Pierced with small holes; worked in eyelets; scalloped on the edge.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Foreigner is in the public domain. This text is taken from Sword Blades and Poppy Seed, Project Gutenberg ebook #1020; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Amy Lowell, The Foreigner, in Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1020, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lowell-amy-sword-blades/the-foreigner.html, id L08216.
Form and metre
The Foreigner is 84 lines in 14 stanzas of 6 lines each. The metre is anapaestic dimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 5.8 syllables. 11 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 44% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in anapaestic dimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A-A devils · treeA · nice · meA · assault · threeA
- 2 AB-BAB gentlemanA · pointB · round · jointB · manA · anointB
- 3 -A-A-A limbs · silkA · stained · milkA · over · ilkA
- 4 -A-A-A laughed · hoseA · hair · noseA · pattern · proposeA
- 5 -A-ABB sir · swordA · themselves · accordA · spottedB · wordB
- 6 -A-A-A bully · stickA · left · thickA · cuffs · lickA
- 7 -A-A-A face · lineA · scar · whineA · you · swineA
- 8 ABABAB inA · friendsB · diversionA · endsB · downA · amendsB
- 9 -A-A-A courteous · meA · landed · seaA · fervent · agreeA
- 10 -ABABA buckled · hairA · jacket'sB · wearA · hatsB · stareA
- 11 -A-A-A heart · manA · twirl · spanA · heels · canA
- 12 ABAB-B strangeA · bootsB · rangeA · rootsB · in · shootsB
- 13 -A-A-A tree · moreA · fools · doorA · ways · coreA
- 14 AA-A-A doneA · inA · steel · skinA · me · winA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against anapaestic dimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Have at you, you Devils! | 6 | ····/˘ |
| My back's to this tree, | 5 | ····· |
| For you're nothing so nice | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| That the hind-side of me | 6 | ······ |
| Would escape your assault. | 6 | ·˘/·˘/ |
| Come on now, all three! | 5 | ····· |
| Here's a dandified gentleman, | 7 | ··/˘˘/˘ |
| Rapier at point, | 5 | /˘˘·· |
| And a wrist which whirls round | 6 | ······ |
| Like a circular joint. | 6 | ··/˘˘· |
| A spatter of blood, man! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| That's just to anoint | 5 | ···˘/ |
| And make supple your limbs. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| 'Tis a pity the silk | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Of your waistcoat is stained. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Why! Your heart's full of milk, | 6 | ······ |
| And so full, it spills over! | 6 | ······ |
| I'm not of your ilk. | 5 | ····· |
| You said so, and laughed | 6 | ·····˘ |
| At my old-fashioned hose, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| At the cut of my hair, | 6 | ······ |
| At the length of my nose. | 6 | ······ |
| To carve it to pattern | 6 | ····/˘ |
| I think you propose. | 5 | ···˘/ |
| Your pardon, young Sir, | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| But my nose and my sword | 6 | ······ |
| Are proving themselves | 5 | ·/˘˘/ |
| In quite perfect accord. | 6 | ··˘/˘/ |
| I grieve to have spotted | 6 | ····/˘ |
| Your shirt. On my word! | 5 | ····· |
| And hullo! You Bully! | 6 | ·˘/·/˘ |
| That blade's not a stick | 5 | ····· |
| To slash right and left, | 5 | ····· |
| And my skull is too thick | 6 | ······ |
| To be cleft with such cuffs | 6 | ······ |
| Of a sword. Now a lick | 6 | ······ |
| Down the side of your face. | 6 | ······ |
| What a pretty, red line! | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Tell the taverns that scar | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Was an honour. Don't whine | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| That a stranger has marked you. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| The tree's there, You Swine! | 5 | ····· |
| Did you think to get in | 6 | ······ |
| At the back, while your friends | 6 | ······ |
| Made a little diversion | 7 | ··/˘˘/˘ |
| In front? So it ends, | 5 | ····· |
| With your sword clattering down | 6 | ···/˘· |
| On the ground. 'Tis amends | 6 | ····˘/ |
| I make for your courteous | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| Reception of me, | 5 | ˘/˘·· |
| A foreigner, landed | 6 | ·/˘˘/˘ |
| From over the sea. | 5 | ····· |
| Your welcome was fervent | 6 | ·/˘·/˘ |
| I think you'll agree. | 5 | ···˘/ |
| My shoes are not buckled | 6 | ····/˘ |
| With gold, nor my hair | 5 | ····· |
| Oiled and scented, my jacket's | 7 | ··/˘·/˘ |
| Not satin, I wear | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| Corded breeches, wide hats, | 6 | /˘/˘·· |
| And I make people stare! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| So I do, but my heart | 6 | ······ |
| Is the heart of a man, | 6 | ······ |
| And my thoughts cannot twirl | 6 | ···/˘· |
| In the limited span | 6 | ··/˘˘· |
| 'Twixt my head and my heels, | 6 | ······ |
| As some other men's can. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| I have business more strange | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Than the shape of my boots, | 6 | ······ |
| And my interests range | 5 | ··/˘· |
| From the sky, to the roots | 6 | ······ |
| Of this dung-hill you live in, | 7 | ······· |
| You half-rotted shoots | 5 | ··/˘· |
| Of a mouldering tree! | 6 | ··/˘˘· |
| Here's at you, once more. | 5 | ····· |
| You Apes! You Jack-fools! | 5 | ····· |
| You can show me the door, | 6 | ······ |
| And jeer at my ways, | 5 | ····· |
| But you're pinked to the core. | 6 | ······ |
| And before I have done, | 6 | ······ |
| I will prick my name in | 6 | ······ |
| With the front of my steel, | 6 | ······ |
| And your lily-white skin | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| Shall be printed with me. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| For I've come here to win! | 6 | ······ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.