They threw me from the gates: my matted hair <br />Was dank with dungeon wetness; my spent frame <br />O’erlaid with marish agues: everywhere <br />Tortured by leaping pangs of frost and flame, <br />So hideous was I that even Lazarus there <br />In noisome rags arrayed and leprous shame, <br />Beside me set had seemed full sweet and fair, <br />And looked on me with loathing. <br /> <br />But one came <br />Who laid a cloak on me and brought me in <br />Tenderly to an hostel quiet and clean; <br />Used me with healing hands for all my needs. <br />The mortal stain of my reputed sin, <br />My state despised, and my defilèd weeds, <br />He hath put by as though they had not been.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/villon/
