"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair."

So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattles 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 anothers loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite."