‘ Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell’ s despair.’
So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle’ s feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
‘ Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’ s loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven’ s despite.’