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Poem	THEY threw me from the gates: my matted hair Was dank with dungeon wetness; my spent frame O¡¯erlaid with marish agues: everywhere Tortured by leaping pangs of frost and flame So hideous was I that even Lazarus there 5 In noisome rags arrayed and leprous shame Beside me set had seemed full sweet and fair And looked on me with loathing. But one came Who laid a cloak on me and brought me in Tenderly to an hostel quiet and clean; 10 Used me with healing hands for all my needs. The mortal stain of my reputed sin My state despised and my defil¨¨d weeds He hath put by as though they had not been.
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