Explore "The Foreigner" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
He walked by me with open eyes, / And wondered that I loved it so; / Above us stretched the gray, gray skies; / Behind us, foot-prints on the snow.
Before us slept a dark, dark wood.
Hemlocks were there, and little pines / Also; and solemn cedars stood / In even and uneven lines.
The branches of each silent tree / Bent downward, for the snow's hard weight / Was pressing on them heavily; / They had not known the sun of late.
(Except when it was afternoon, / And then a sickly sun peered in / A little while; it vanished soon / And then they were as they had been.)
There was no sound (I thought I heard / The axe of some man far away) / There was no sound of bee, or bird, / Or chattering squirrel at its play.
And so he wondered I was glad.
-- There was one thing he could not see; / Beneath the look these dead things had / I saw Spring eyes agaze at me.