The year's at the spring/Abbott, H. H
Black and White
I MET a man along the road
Was ever anything so dark, so pale
His hat, his clothes, his tie, his boots
Were black as black
And midst of all was a cold white face,
And eyes that looked wearily.
The road was bleak and straight and flat
Gaunt poles with shrilling wires their weird
On the sky stood out, on the swollen sky
The black blood veins
After tree, as they beat from the face
Of the wind which they could not flee.
And in the fields along the road
Swart crows sat huddled on the ground
While overhead the seamews wheeled, and skirled
But the black cows stood, and cropped where they stood,
And never heeded thee,
O dark pale man, with the weary eyes,
On the road to Withernsea.