Such was the legend. I had read it through <br />Twice ere I thought of thinking what it meant. <br />And as I turned with a sigh because I knew <br />That I alone perhaps of all who went <br />Homewards that night should bid good--night to none, <br />From a side door thrust open on the street <br />And calling as she passed in petulant tone <br />To one within who seemed to rouse her heat, <br />``Ah, mauvais plaisant!'' ere she slammed it to, <br />Out stepped my little woman of the Fair. <br />Her face was altered, but its form and hue, <br />If I had doubted in the moonlight there, <br />Was marked for me by that unaltered sign, <br />The little scar, its beauty's underline.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xxxiii/
