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The Clod and the Pebble |
"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." |
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