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.”