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.»