名人诗歌|Villon

THEY threw me from the gates： my matted hair

Was dank with dungeon^{1 wetness； my spent frame}

Oerlaid with marish agues： everywhere

Tortured by leaping pangs^{2 of frost and flame}

So hideous^{3 was I that even Lazarus there}

In noisome^{4 rags arrayed and leprous shame}

Beside me set had seemed full sweet and fair

And looked on me with loathing^5.

But one came

Who laid a cloak on me and brought me in

Tenderly to an hostel^{6 quiet and clean；}

Used me with healing hands for all my needs.

The mortal stain of my reputed sin

My state despised and my defild weeds

He hath put by as though they had not been.