From all her crimes than thou wilt ever be.
Thou wilt not let her wash thy dainty feet
With such salt things as tears, or with rude hair
Dry them, soft Pharisee, that sit’st at meat
With him who made her such, and speak’st him fair,
Leaving God’s wandering lamb the while to bleat
Unheeded, shivering in the pitiless air:
Thou hast made prisoned virtue shew more wan
And haggard, than a vice to look upon.
James R. Lowell.