Half-sunk in the mire that lay.
“His fingers were parting joint from joint,
His skin was yellow as corn;
More countless the sores in his rotting flesh
Than buds on the milk-white thorn.
“His hairless head was as bare and white
As the boughs of a blasted tree;
A fouler sight than that leper-man
No mortal eye could see.
“‘For Christ’s dear sake, Sir Knight,’ quoth he,